Ganked V20
by OsricPearl
Summary: An orphan girl meets a mysterious green eyed elf as a child. He shows her kindness and gives her two gifts: a small pendant and a future. She vows to find him one day and express her gratitude. When they meet again, she does not know he is the same elf and he does not remember her, but they are drawn to each other. Yet his hatred proves stronger than love, leading to betrayal.
1. Chapter 1 The First Whispers

**Ganked v 2.0**

This story takes place before the cataclysm. I tried to keep the story within the bounds of lore and the timeline straight, but I make no guarantees. Alliance centric but I try to give the Horde a fair shake.

AN:

It was written about four years ago and deleted by the admins for reasons I don't know. It was properly rated, indeed it has no mature content, it was properly formatted and placed in the correct section. If anyone finds a reason why this story would be deleted, please PM so I can fix it and so it won't happen again.

Since the story was written long ago, I didn't have many of the original copies, so I had to reverse engineer the story based on the last two chapters that I managed to find in an old hard drive, after scouring my house in a panic. These stories may just be fanfiction, but they are all precious to me and this one no less even though it isn't very long.

**Chapter 1 The First Whispers**

Nina's first memory was of watching her Aunt Jill crush dried white petals in a mortar, grinding them into dust. She would mix them in a bowl of hot, boiling water, along with ground Silverleaf.

"This, my dear, is how you make a basic healing potion. Just heat it until it is almost to boil and then remove it from the fire, letting it simmer until the juices concentrate in the liquid..."

But Nina was no longer paying any attention. Time had exhausted her attention span and now the little girl squirmed, longing for stimulation. Aunt Jill merely smiled and continued on her work.

"You are only four. It is amazing that I held your attention as long as I did. You will make a great alchemist one day, little one."

The little girl's blue eyes wandered outside. A few birds were starting to dip into nearby Stone Carin Lake. They lived on the north shore, wedged between the lake and the hills, in a little blue-tiled cottage hugged by two adjacent trees. It was just her and her "aunt," who was a little too old to be an aunt, and seemed old enough to be her grandmother.

They rarely ventured out. Once in a while, Nina was set to nearby Eastvale Logging Camp for supplies. Flour, dried fruits, eggs and meats were needed to supplement her vegetable garden. Their lack of basic supplies bothered Auntie Jill, who would look at Nina's small frame with concern.

"Hopefully, one day we will make enough money so that we can have a proper barn and coop," she would mutter to herself.

It wasn't unusual for travelers to stop by. They were usually exotic folk, dwarves, elves of all kinds, and even gnomes. She was a shy girl, and was known for hiding behind her aunt's skirts when visitors arrived. It was to these travelers that her aunt would sell her collection of potions and other concoctions, which were rumored to be some of the best in the realm.

Two such travelers came by very often, until it occurred to her that they weren't travelers at all. One was loud, rowdy Dwarf Paladin by the name of Skinflint, who lived in nearby Goldshire. His long, brown beard was tinged with gray. He took a shine to the little foundling, for that is what she was, and would visit often with treats and toys to distract her.

"'ere ya go lassie," he would bellow, giving her some toy or other. "I got this one from Ironforge. It's gnome made fare, so ya better be careful but it should be good fer some time before it breaks!"

The other was a tall, imposing Night Elf Druid who went by the name of Denevell. He would sometimes visit with Skinflint, but other times he would come by on his own to discuss herbs and living things.

When Nina was six, their fortunes began to change. At first, it seemed to be for the better. Enough money had been saved to expand their cottage and build a proper farm, complete with a barn for cows and a chicken coop. Workers were hired, land was cleared, and they were ready to begin construction.

But the night before construction was set to occur, disaster struck. It began with a crash. Nina woke with a start to find a hideous beastman grinning at her through a broken window. Its hide was black spotted and golden, its fangs and snout suggested a dog, but his clawed hand that gripped a simple spear reminded her of a man.

She cried out in terror as the creature jumped in the house. With his gnarly, hairy claws he reached for her. Even though she was just a child, she knew she was going to die. But a ball of fire blasted on through the door and caught the knoll in the stomach. He was hurled back against the wall and ceased moving.

"Auntie, Auntie!" Nina cried desperately as the elderly woman walked in.

"You must go, Nina! You cannot stay here. We are being overrun with them. I think they seek to make this their nest."

"But auntie, I want to go with you," she cried.

Her little hands clung to the woman's robes so strongly that her knuckles became white.

"Go, now!"

Jill pushed her away and then basically tossed her out of the window. With one last command, for her to leave and never turn her head, Nina was chased off from the only home she'd ever known to an uncertain future.

Only when she reached the edge of the woods, next to Eastvale, that she turned around. Through blurred eyes she watched what was once a budding lake-side community alight. Her old house was burning. She could see black shadows darting in and out of the firelight. The woman who'd raised her was nowhere to be seen.

For as long as she lived, Nina would remember the terror of that night, the deep shadows that covered the ground, the hideousness of the face that loomed over her window, and the deep sadness when she realized that she would never see her aunt again.

She was about to scream, when a boy of eleven covered her mouth quickly. He held a sword in his hand. He was not alone. The men from the logging camp, and a few women, were standing beside him, with swords and pitchforks. A few held torches aloft, creating a beacon for which refugees could gravitate.

"Be quiet, or they will come 'ere next," he hissed.

He was auburn-haired and tanned, with large green eyes. She recognized him as Cyrus, a boy who basically lived in the wild and would visit on occasion.

"What 'appened 'ere? Cyrus, ya better be careful with tha lass!" A familiar voice roared.

It was Skinflint, who appeared with a few Stormwind guards. They got wind of an incoming attack, but had arrived too late.

"Skinflint!" she cried. "Auntie is there. The monsters came and now the house on fire. Why?"

The dwarf held her close as he looked around him, frowning with concern.  
"I'm sorry lass, but ya must be strong now..."  
The last thing she remembered was being over taken by darkness. Skinflint told her later that she fainted with shock.

After that night, her life changed forever. Nina was now in the care of Skinflint, who moved to a village next to Eastvale Logging camp and she became his ward. As it turned out, Cyrus was also orphaned and stayed with them sometimes, although he generally lived on his own.

Unlike her Aunt, Nina did not see Skinflint as much. He had joined a small, local militia to keep the knolls and other creatures at bay, preventing their expansion. And so Denevell would take care of them in place of Skinflint. But despite his best efforts, he was often away in his own thoughts, in his reverie, or in his work. Days would pass before the children saw either of their caretakers.

And although the other citizens of the village were kindly, and treated her well, they had their own problems. There was only so much they could do for the child. They left her on her own and she raised herself.

And thus was her life until she reached the age of twelve and she moved to Northshire and became apprenticed to Khelden Bremen. But before she traveled to Nortshire, one other event transpired that would remained forever seared in her mind.


	2. Chapter 2 The Green Eyed Stranger

**Ganked V 2.0**

**Chapter 2 The Green Eyed Stranger **

Soliandrus Autumn Lightbringer, Blood Elf, found himself in the unlikely location of Elwynn Forest, kneeling by nameless river. He wore his jet black hair long, touching his shoulders. His skin was ruddy and tanned, on account of his travels. Weathered, dusky armor of a Warrior covered his aching muscles. It was slightly dented and scuffed from use. They desperately needed repair, but there was no one near to fix them. Deep in enemy territory, he was clandestine and hidden, spying on their lands for the past several months. His trial was almost over, however, and he was anxious for a short holiday at Booty Bay before making his long journey north to report his findings.

After Scourge destroyed his home, killing off his entire family, he'd vowed revenge. But revenge, as much as he yearned for it, was slow in coming. Not all Blood Elves had gone to the Outlands. A few Blood Elves stayed behind, and were tasked with spying on their enemies and winning back their lost lands. The fact that the schism with the high elves was not yet known, made their work easier. Small bands of Blood Elves were able to enter most areas without a problem. After all, to the rest of the world, they simply did not exist.

This mission is why Soliandrus, or Sol, as he preferred, was in Elwynn Forest. Of special concern were the beastmen. It was suspected that they were connected to several problems that plagued other lands, particularly with murlocks and harpies. There seemed to be malevolent force behind their sudden increase in numbers, and it was his job to find if such things had affected Alliance territories as well. He'd already traveled to Red Ridge Mountains, Duskwood and Westfall, leaving the easiest and most leisurely area for the last.

His companion was a young elven woman named Lucilin, a rogue, who helped with reconnaissance.

What they found, besides the murlocks and kobols, was more than interesting. The groups of beastmen were barely being constrained. The reason? It seemed the Defias Brotherhood were causing Stormwind a great deal of trouble, straining their resources thin. It was clear sign of weaknesses from the once proud human city. It was a weakness that could be exploited later.

At that moment, Sol sat at the riverbank next to some pumpkin farm. He was washing his hands and face. Lucilin was scouting the surrounding areas, making certain that no one had followed them. It had been a hot day and he was about to remove his chest plate for a dip, when suddenly a face appeared, reflected on the water beside him.

He turned around and looked up, at a girl who stared down at him with curiously.

"Are ya an adventurer?" she asked.

She was around twelve, if he judged human ages properly. Her wild brown hair was dirty and tousled. Her tanned, ruddy skin was covered in a black layer of dirt. But her blue eyes didn't have the dull, sad look he had seen in street urchin before. Rather, they were quick and piercing. As an elf, he recognized that look. It was the look of someone gifted with magic.

She sat on a ridge right above him, nearly four feet up. Had he been any good at herbalism, he would have noticed the earthroot that sprouted right above his head. It was that earthroot that had drawn her to the scene.

He looked at her curiously before replying.

"I am."

Sol, like the other Blood Elves left, spoke common, although it was rusty from lack of use. Long before the Scourge had changed things forever, they had been members of the Alliance. Sol had always been plagued by what his late father would lovingly refer to as "wanderlust." There were few places that he hadn't seen. In fact, this wasn't even his first trip to Elwynn Forest. It was part of the reason he was chosen for the task.

"Are ya 'n 'lf?" she asked.

He couldn't help but wince. She had the hardest Elwynn accent he'd heard. Besides that, there was something rather Dwarfish about it too. It didn't help.

"Yes."

"I didn't know 'igh 'lves adventured. Skinflint told me th'r was too few..."

"You talk too much, girl," he snapped.

"I'm sorry. I just 'aven't seen a 'igh 'lf before. I thought they was blue ey'd," she continued.

"And so they usually are," was his cautious reply. "Is there anyone else with you?"

She shook her head naively.

_Good,_ he thought. _All I have to do is knock her out and leave her here. She won't tell anyone then._

"Come down," he said lightly. "I will tell you of my adventures."

She smiled at the prospect.  
"Ok! But let me git this 'ere earthroot before I come down."

He was just about to offer to do it for her, since it was only four feet up, and he could easily yank the weed, but she went to grab it first. As she leaned over, she slipped and slid down to the embankment. It wasn't too harsh of a drop, but she landed right on her wrist. Her weight pressed against it and he heard the tell-tale crunch of a break. Her wrist was broken. She yelled with pain and did not stop.

Sol panicked. The loud yelling would undoubtedly alert someone to their location and he would be discovered. Besides, she had seen him. Even though they could blend in, it would still be a curious thing for a High Elf to wander around Elwynn on his own. Questions would be asked.  
No matter, he had several healing potions available. He knew what to do. After forcing her to gulp down a red drought, the swelling disappeared with the pain.  
"There you go little girl, now be quiet and stop crying," he whispered, trying to keep his irritation from showing.

But the fall and the pain had been too much. Trials had taught her how to cry silently. So she could only follow half of his command, and she continued to cry.

This was no good.

"Shh... stop whimpering," he hissed.

He swiftly stood up and yanked the root and handed it to her.

"There, does that make you feel better?" he asked as he held it before her.

She smiled and wiped away a tear.

"I thank ya mightl'y sir, but it was 'em leaves I need. Now they're all torn."

The girl took it anyway and put the sample in a pack that was slung across her waist. He noticed that unlike the rest of her raiment, which was dirty and ragged, the herb pack was clean and well-preserved.

"Maybe I can fin' some use out o' 'em," she said.

"That is a very nice pack you have there," Sol observed.

She nodded and smiled.

"It belon'ed ta me Auntie Jill. It is tha only thin' I 'ave o' 'er left. Tha rest o' it..."

"I see. So you are an orphan," he mused.

She nodded gravely.

"I've always been 'n orphan. Me Auntie found me in a basket by tha river. 'n then tha knolls came 'n took 'er too. Now I live wi' Uncle Skinflint near tha Loggin' Camp," she explained.

There was little sadness in her voice, although the truth was very harsh. It was as though she was accustomed to it.

"Well, you are in good company then. The Scourge took my family. I am an orphan too, you see... Wait, Skinflint? What kind of human name is that?"

"Oh, 'e's not 'uman. 'e's a dwarf! 'n 'e is tha leader o' tha Elwynn Forest Militia!"

She grinned widely as she explained, pride oozing from every word.

_That explains the accent_, he thought ruefully.

"And yet you run around in dirty rags and messy hair," he jeered.

"Oh, 'e's always away. Besides, they tell me ta wash 'n bathe but I dunno pay 'em no mind. I'm just as good dirty as clean, says I."

Sol's lip twitched with an amused smile. But he had to do his best to keep from laughing.

"So this uncle of yours...where does he go?"

This girl, savage though she was, was giving him some valuable information. But he needed more than the leader of a local rag-tag militia.

"OH! I dunno. 'e goes ta some place in Stormwin' called SI:17. 'e says they 'ave ta investigate tha Defias 'cause they're tryin' ta bring down tha Noble 'ouses, 'n that's distractin' 'em from fightin' other 'ings. I don't really care fer any o' it, but 'e tells us these things 'cause Cyrus really wants ta know. 'e wants ta be a Warrior 'n work fer SI:17 one day."

"Well, that is all very fascinating," he continued, trying to egg her on. He was internally making notes.

"But that's all 'e ever says. I get bored with it anyway. I jest want ta take back me 'ome. I don't care 'bout some stupid Defias 'n Nobles. I am goin' ta destroy 'em one day, with fire, like they did ta us," she declared.

Just then her blue eyes flared, almost glowed, and hardened with determination. Her fists clenched at her side and she bore her teeth menacingly.

"And that is exactly how I feel," he affirmed. "Do you know how you're going to do it? This Cyrus, he wants to be a Warrior. Is that what you want?"  
Nina shook her head.

"I dunno what I want."

"Well, little girl, let me tell you what I see. Despite your provincial accent and your shoddy attire, in your eyes I see magic."

"Magic? But they're so smart 'n fine. I dunno think I coul' do it."

"Here, let me give you something," he said as he reached into his pack.

Inside was a small copper necklace with a tear-drop shaped, malachite stone in the middle.

"It's green!" she exclaimed. "Like yer eyes they are."

He smiled at her coldly before setting it in her hand.

"This will help you dodge things quicker, which will aid you when you cast spells. You aren't strong enough to use it now, but it will serve you soon."

"Thank ye kindly sir! What's yer name, mister?"

Sol paused. He could not give her his name without compromising himself. Besides, he didn't like the idea of an Alliance girl being able to identify him. Still, he wasn't about to be rude.

"It is Autumn," he said, giving her his middle name.

"Autumn? Isn't tha' a girl's name?"

"We elves feel a kinship with nature. I don't think that my parents cared that it sounded girlish to human ears," he replied haughtily. "And what is yours?"

"Nina!"

That's when another elf materialized beside them. She wore leather armor and her face was covered with a red cloth. Nina became so startled she would have screamed had Sol not covered her mouth first.

"Lucilin, what are you doing?" He hissed in Thalassian.

"I should be asking you the same question. While you're here, having a chat with this dirty little girl, a dwarf and a few men are coming this way. You've been spotted!"

Her hair was, in Nina's eyes, very pretty. It shimmered in the sun a golden red, which contrasted beautifully with her flashing green eyes.

"How close?" he asked.

"They're at the bridge!"

He nodded quickly.

"Listen, Nina. I must be going now. But you must promise not to tell anyone we were here, you got it? And don't tell anyone bout the necklace. We are in a secret mission, you see, and if you blow our cover, we won't be able to get Defias and the knolls."

She nodded with understanding but then she reached into her pack and removed a flower.

"'ere, 'ave this. It's peacebloom. Just take that 'n some silverleaf 'n ya can make a simple potion. If ya ever get 'urt..."

Lucilin rolled her eyes with impatience.

"Oh for goodness' sake."

He swiftly took the flower.

"Goodbye," he said without feeling.

Nina's world went black in an instant. She didn't know it, but he had swiftly struck her head, at the base of the spine. The girl was so slight, it wasn't a difficult thing to reach behind her and hit her with the blunt end of a dagger. She collapsed face first in the water. Sol was sure to roll her over to the embankment before making a swift retreat with Lucilin, and not a moment too soon. Skinflint, Cyrus, now seventeen, and a few other men armed with crude weapons arrived moments later.

"They were 'ere alright, those Defias Scum!" Cyrus, who had also adopted Skinflint's accent, said. "I can see their footprints at tha bank. They're headin' for Duskwood!"

He wore his curly auburn hair long, tied in a loose pony-tail with a leather thong. His skin as tanned and just as dirty, if not more, than Nina's. His clothes, which consisted of a simple leather vest and pants, were weather worn and loose. The men followed Cyrus, trying to catch the two elves before they crossed the river. Skinflint did not follow, but knelt beside the unconscious girl instead.

"Fire 'n smoke! Nina! What 'ave they done ta ya lass? These Defias always sculkin' 'bout."

He knelt down and leaned over, pressing his ear against her chest.

"Well, at least they didn't kill ya. It seems like they tried ta knock ya out is all. Foolish lass gettin' 'erself all inta trouble..."

The rabble never caught up to them. By the time Cyrus had reached the shore, Sol and Lucilin had reached the other side, and were out of the water, hiding in the gloom, their armor and clothes dripping wet.

"Why did you do that?" she asked.

"Do what?" he snarled back.

"Let her live. She'll tell. You know she will."

Sol glared at her before replying.

"Listen to me very carefully, Lucilin, no one hates humans more than I. You know this. I was there when the humans betrayed us, locking us up in a dungeon and treating us worse than filth, despite the fact that our homes and families, land, everything that we held dear was taken from us. I hate them. All of them."

As he said those things, he noticed a boy at the other side of the river, glaring at them with impotent fury. It was a good thing that the men of Elwynn Forest were such cowards, or he would have followed them to the gloom. The fight would have ended with the boy dead, but Sol would have been discovered for sure.

_That is someone to watch,_ he thought.

"And yet you let her live," she replied with skepticism, interrupting his thoughts.

"You don't see the difference?"

She shook her head.

"She may have been vermin, but she was a child. I would never harm a child, even as I hate her with all my being. Do you understand now, the difference between an elf and a man? Men kill without distinction, we elves do not! Now banish such human thoughts from your head Lucilin, they do not become you."

Lucilin glanced down at the ground, ashamed.

"Do we go to Booty Bay?"

"Yes," he replied. "But we should steer clear of the roads until the end to avoid detection. The creatures here are not too strong so we should have no problem with them."

And with that they entered the gloom of Duskwood, leaving the sunlit forests of Elwynn behind.

That night, Sol wrote a small entry in his journal. It wasn't a particularly personal journal, he simply used it to remember important information for missions. So that entry he simply wrote:

_Elwynn Forest, Autumn - Day 13 _  
_Skinflint. Nina. Peacebloom. _

He kept the peacebloom, pressing it against the pages of his journal. But once the journal was set down, the girl was quickly forgotten, even as the information she had unwittingly given him was not.

* * *

Meanwhile, Nina lay on the bed in Skinflint's cottage. Cyrus and Skinflint stood beside the bed, tending to her. At first, Skinflint could not divulge any information from her. She flatly refused ever seeing anyone. As for the injury? She had fallen down the small ridge trying to get an earthroot. It was not a lie, as far as she was concerned. But Skinflint foiled her lies by presenting the necklace.

"Now lassie, ya've never lied ta me 'ave ye! Ya need ta tell me tha truth."

Nina bit her lip apprehensively.

"But 'e said that if I did that it would be bad! That...they were in a secret mission tryin' ta get tha Defias!"

Cyrus sneered. "'n ya believed that? Ya really are a baby."

Nina's eyes watered. "But 'e was so nice!"

Skinflint sighed and shook his head.

"Now lass, I may 'ave left ya all alone fer too long! Whenever a grown up tells ya not ta tell anyone somethin', then ya know they're no good!"

She nodded with shame.

"Now be a good lass 'n tell me everyin'!"

And she did, except for the part about what she said about Skinflint. That would get her in trouble for sure.

"...'n then 'e gave me that necklace. 'e said it would 'elp me 'cause I 'ave magic 'n I would be a mage one day."

"Ya! A mage!" Cyrus declared incredulously. "What 'n ugly little troll o' a mage ya'd make."

"Ya shut it, Cy! Ya're tha only ugly troll I see 'ere 'bouts!" Nina yelled, pointing at the boy.

"Now ya two, arguin' like a pair of siblin's. I'm goin' out ta think o' what ya said. Ya two stay in 'ere!"

He left the small house closed the door with no small bit of force. Those two would be the end of him, he was sure of it. That very morning he found two new gray hairs on his luxurious beard. Those kids had no idea what it took to cultivate one!

Outside, waiting, was an imposing, bearded Night Elf with violet hair and ashen gray skin. He was tall, much taller than any of the men of the logging camp. He wore the elaborate Cenarion druid armor, complete with antlers and vines.

"Denevell, ma friend," Skinflint began. "Did ya 'ear all o' that? 'lves she said, wit' green eyes! I'd never 'eard of such a thin'."

"It is peculiar. Let me see the pendant."

Skinflint handed the elf the Malachite pendant. After a few minutes of examination, the elf handed it back to Skinflint.

"I see no malice in it. It is a simple malachite pendant. It should aid her in the future."

"'n what 'e said 'bout bein' a mage..."

"I should ascertain that, my old friend. Most importantly, we can never tell anyone that she spoke to these strange elves."

"There is na arguin' wit' ya on that account!" Skinflint exclaimed. "But I'll 'ave everyone on tha lookout fer this Autumn feller."

"If that is even his real name. At any rate, let me see her," Denevell said.

_What an odd thing,_ he mused as he examined her. _For an elf who took such great pains to stay hidden, to risk discovery like this... What an odd thing indeed._

On her twelfth birthday, she was tested by the Magi at the Tower of Azora, their confirmation of her magical gifts were merely a formality. A letter of recommendation was sent to Northshire Abbey. Her stay there lasted until her fifteenth birthday, after which she was experienced enough to join the Mages in Stormwind.

At the same time she left for Northshire, Cyrus, volunteered for military service. To his disappointment, he was stationed in Theramore. There he would apprentice for five years, learning the art of the sword.

His charges now grown, Skinflint felt at liberty to leave Elwynn Forest and seek adventure elsewhere. With Denevell, his friend, they traveled far into Kalimador.

It would be six years before they all would meet again. All the while, a certain Blood Elf was carving his way in the world, preparing for the return of his kin.

**AN: **

Thanks for the reviews.

I assume, due to the lack of information before the expansion, that most people in the world were not aware of Blood Elves before BC. Leaders of the various factions and those "in the know" may have been, but not the average individual. I don't remember any mention of them while playing as Undead or while conversing with High Elf NPCs before BC. They may have been mentioned in the books, but I haven't read them.

I think that the trauma of the Scourge made people concentrate on their own survival, rebuilding what they could. So a bunch of High Elves disappearing wouldn't have made too much of an impression. And since Silvermoon was given up as a lost cause, no one would look that way as it was being rebuilt. Blood Elves could remain hidden for the six or so years between the schism and BC.

But I can't see all of them staying up there. Part of reestablishing a country involves more than just killing off the Scourge and rebuilding. Gauging the relative strength of one's neighbors is vital, especially possible enemies.


	3. Chapter 3 Growing Pains

**Ganked V.2**

**Chapter 3 Growing Pains**

Nina's training was difficult. First, her manners were a complete mess. When Nina arrived, she was bathed and dressed appropriately. Her hair had even been done, thanks to Cyrus, the only one who seemed to manage it. But there was no disguising her manners, her lack of social graces, or that appalling accent.

It wasn't long before she became the object of ridicule and scorn among her schoolmates. As if often the case, bullying became common. This was true of the girls, who spared no opportunity to point out every flaw in speech, every poor stitch, or torn bit of leather in her shoes and gloves.

This sort of behavior was thoroughly unfamiliar. The folks at Eastvale were always kind to her. The children enjoyed her company, and she was great friends with everyone, even if they did think her somewhat strange. All her attempts at improvement did not resolve matters. No matter how much she tried to fit in, they would find another flaw to pick at.

When she finally was able to leave, to apprentice with another Mage for her continued training, it was decided that she should go to Stormwind. Whatever the students thought, Khelden saw in her a great deal of talent. Of the five students, she was the only one selected to study at the Wizard's Sanctum, under the tutelage of Jennea Cannon. There the teasing began anew, and she was at a loss of how to end it.

The High Elves were the ones who interested her the most. She watched them keenly, taking note in their behavior and mimicking it. After a time, she decided to change her name to something that seemed more elvish and less provincial. All of this had the desired effect of lessening the torment until it ended all together.

All the while, she thought of Autumn. Her one hope was to find him one day and thank him for everything. Despite the bullying, she'd found something she truly loved - magic. Although she would see more beautiful pendants and amulets as she grew in strength, none would match the one that was given to her that Summer's day.

Cyrus' stay at Theramore was largely uneventful. His hair was sheered, his clothes were mended, and he was forced to bathe. Like Nina, he was consider a savage when he first entered the ranks, and teased relentlessly over his accent. Like Nina, he changed his accent to fit in. Besides those minor inconveniences, his six-year stay was, in his view, quite a bore.

The reason he stayed six years, instead of five, was Lorenna. She arrived a year after he did, a volunteer just like him. He was smitten at once. Her golden hair and dark, flashing eyes were enough to render him speechless. There was nothing that he wouldn't have done for her. Indeed, there was nothing that he didn't do.

When she asked to carry her things, he did without question. Take over a shift for her while she "bathed," why he was the one to do it. Sneak some extra mead and beer to her room in the middle of the night? Sure, why not.

For all his pains, she would reward him with a smile and an appreciative pat on the head.

"You are always so nice to me," she would say with a grin.

There was nothing in the world that made him happier than hearing those words. Of course, most of the other men thought his behavior unbecoming. To his face, they told him he was being a fool. They called him Lorenna's Pet Dog.

Shortly before his five years were up, he was approached by the commander of Theramore Keep. They could extend his stay for one more year, if he wished. The king of Stormwind had vanished, some said kidnapped, and there was talk of open hostilities between the Horde and Alliance in various places.  
Of course he would stay, if only to be with Lorenna for one more year.

It wasn't until he gave her the news, while they were on patrol on the swamp hugged road, that he began to sense that something was wrong. In his head, the news would bring a happy squeal, and perhaps a hug. But no such reaction came. Instead, she looked down and frowned slightly.

"Why did you agree to stay?" she asked, with an annoyed edge to her voice.

He wanted to say, "To stay with you," but the sudden chill in mood changed his mind.

"Because they are needed help with the patrols," he replied.

"That's true," she agreed.

Nothing else was said of it, and her mood considerably cooled after that conversation. Although she still asked for his help on occasion, her requests became less frequent.

One night, while he stood watch by the inner gate, he caught sight of her entering the stables with another soldier. He didn't see who he was and he didn't care. Instead, he felt crushed and demoralized. But as angry as he was at her, he was angrier still at himself for being such a fool. 'Lorenna's Dog' indeed! He swore he would never be at the beck and call of a woman again. He could be out, adventuring himself, perhaps even finding the lost king of Stormwind! But instead he was stuck watching the darkness, blistering with wounded pride and an aching heart. What a fool he was, what a stupid, bloody fool.  
But that night was not all sour. As it is in one's darkest times, light sometimes appears from the strangest sources. The source, unnoticed by him because he was too busy looking at the ground, feeling sorry for himself, stopped at the gate where he was stationed and paused. As ordered, he asked for a name and occupation.

"What do you mean occupation? Can't you seem my void walker right here?" was the shrill voiced reply.

He looked up, and for the first time noticed a huge void walker looming before him, blue, menacing, and chained. But as for the source of the voice, he could not find it. He scanned the area with dismay.

The voice sighed.

"Are all human guards that dense? I am down here!"

As ordered, he looked down and there, staring at him with huge, luminous green eyes was a gnome woman, or girl, he wasn't sure how to refer to them. She was tinny, only about three feet tall, with black hair stacked up high in a regal do. Her red robes were elaborately stitched, trimmed with velvet and lace.  
Even if he hadn't seen her imposing voidwalker, there would have been no question as to her occupation.

"Warlock, what is your name," he murmured.

"Wigget Spindleswift, at your service," she replied in a mousy voice.

"Enter and welcome to Theramore Isle," he said with detachment.

"Wow, you sound sad. Is anything OK? Are you OK? Do you have a problem? If you have a problem, maybe I can fix it! I am an engineer after all."

For a moment, Cyrus wondered if he could confide in her. After all, in his uniform and helm, he was nothing but a nameless, faceless, guard. He was no different from all the other guards, and they were treated like gnomish inventions themselves. But he wisely decided against it and merely waved her in.

One day, while he was off duty, drinking at the Inn, Wigget entered and sat before him.

"You are the sad guard, aren't you," she said as soon as she sat down.

He was a little startled that she recognized him in plain clothes.

"I am...not sad anymore. But I was the sad guard you greeted your first day here, yes."

"Ah, well, I am glad to know that you aren't in a funk. What was the problem?"

He merely shrugged his shoulders. "It really doesn't matter anymore."

That is when Lorenna entered with some flavor-of-the-week brute of a mercenary. He couldn't really resent her. If that's what she liked, then she was welcome to it. Wigget gave him a quizzical glance as she watched the pair drink together. Cyrus pointedly ignored them.

"Ah," Wigget murmured.

She had seen the exchange and knew the problem at once. Truth be told, she was a little disappointed. Here she was expecting a real problem, say, a loose gear or a broken steam engine.

"Well, now that we are here, let me introduce myself to you good sir. I am Wigget Spindleswift. And you are... "

"Cyrus."

"Cyrus...what?"

"I don't know. I was a foundling. I grew up in the woods of Elwynn with a dwarf who was gone half of the time, an Elf who was never there, and a feral girl who stunk like a troll."

He stared into his cup and smiled. Those times were some of his happiest...come to think of it.

"Well, then, doesn't that sound fun! I was the same, almost, I was a great princess in Gnomeregan, but when the city fell I was forced to flee with my family to Ironforge. But that place was boring, so I left. They don't like Warlocks there anyway. Hey, you don't have a problem with Warlocks, do you? If you do, then it's no worries. I'll leave you alone..."

"I don't have a problem with it," he interrupted.

He was naturally skeptical of her noble heritage. During his stay at Theramore, he'd met enough former nobles and princesses to fill all of Stormwind and pour out into Elwynn forest if need be.

But despite her questionable heritage and his apparent lack of fun, they became fast friends. They mostly talked of the world and their plans. He was fascinated with her tales of lands beyond. He hadn't really traveled. Now at twenty-two, stuck in a fortress, he was becoming restless. His skills were honed in and he wanted to test them in battle.

As the year wore on, he waited with increasing impatience for his contract to end. Right before it ended, his commander approached once more and asked for an extension. The Outlands were opened, scores of Blood Elves now roamed the continents with new power and a thirst for revenge. Cyrus happily refused. There was no way he would stay there another minute. Only one more week, and he would be a free man.

It was then that a letter arrived for him from Denevell and Skinflint. They had been traveling in Kalimador and were going to pass by on their way to the Eastern Kingdoms. Nina was waiting at Menethil Harbor. She would join them and together, they would travel to Southshore. They wondered if his time on guard duty was nearly up. If so, they would love for him to join. Cyrus readily accepted, even giving them the exact day of his dismissal.  
The day before he was dismissed, he packed his bags. Wigget watched him curiously, laying on one of the top bunk of the barracks, her face resting on her hands.

"What are you going to do now?" she asked.

"I am going to Southshore with Skinflint and Denevell. Or not. Maybe I'll just go alone. Who knows? That's the beauty of it."

"Can I come with you? Oh let me come. I've already been to Southshore. I can be of some help!"

He paused before replying, while stuffing another shirt into his already full bag.

"I don't see a problem. But it's up to Skinflint. That old dwarven bastard can be rather ornery at times," he replied.

Wigget sat up and stretched lazily.

"When do they arrive?"

"Tonight."

"Hmph, well, I will see if they are a good enough for me to call companions. I just can't travel with just anyone, you know, with my pedigree."

But later that night, when she finally met Skinflint and Denevell at the Inn, she was not nearly as glib. After the serving wench brought a round of drinks,

Wigget kept her face hidden behind the glass most of the night.

"So, lass, what Noble 'ouse did ye say yer were from? I know 'em all on account o' my travel's before it fell," Skinflint said.

"Ah, a minor one," Wigget replied with a squeak.

"Ye say she's a _friend_ o' yers?" Skinflint asked Cyrus, giving him a critical eye.

"Yes, dad, she is a _friend_," Cyrus replied, making sure to emphasize the word friend.

No one but Denevell noticed that he'd called Skinflint his father.

"And you want to go with us to Southshore," Denevell said.

"That would be nice," she replied.

"Guys, hustle!" Cyrus commanded.

In a moment the three men stood in a tight circle by the fire, their shoulders together as they stood in a huddle.

"Let's just take her with us. I think she's lonely," Cyrus said.

"I don't like Warlocks. They deal with fell energies and mess with powers that are far above their comprehension," Denevell objected.

Skinflint nodded sagely.

"I agree! N' she's lyin' 'bout bein' a noble. I dunno like liars," Skinflint protested. "I'd bet every last gold coin that she's never been ta Southshore!" Skinflint declared.

"And yet I don't sense malice in her lie, wrong though it is," Denevell said.

"She is a Warlock and an engineer. We'll need her," Cyrus explained.

Skinflint openly scoffed at the idea.

"Nina would appreciate another female in the group," Denevell mused.

"Yeah, so they can talk about dresses...and stuff..." Cyrus continued, although he wondered exactly what that wild scrap of a girl knew about such things.

"I guess she can go," Skinflint said at last. "But I want no talk o' this Noble 'ouse business."

"Got it!" a voice said from within the huddle.

All three followed the source of the voice, down, only to see Wigget's large, green eyes staring back at them. Wigget had become bored waiting for them to finish their huddle, so she merely walked between Denevell's legs and watched as each spoke in turn.

"O' all tha creature's ya had ta befriend, ya 'ad ta brin' a gnome! An Orc would'a been better!" Skinflint roared.

Cyrus replied with a sheepish grin and a shrug.

The next morning, the four companions left for Menethil Harbor, where Nina was waiting. The tide was high, the wind was swift, and Cyrus felt at long last that his life was just about to begin.

It took them three days to reach the Eastern Kingdoms and lower anchor. As the crew went about their business preparing the ship for landing, Cyrus stood at the edge, looking anxiously towards Menethil, and his future beyond. A fog hung on the air, shrouding the town in a gray mantle. Only a few lanterns peeked through, their golden light diffused in the gloom.

Denevell joined him, and gave him a pat on the shoulder.

"Well, I was just thinking. I left one swamp, only to land in another," Cyrus said.

Denevell laughed.

"That is often the case in life, but we won't stay here long. Listen, there is one thing you should know. Nina has revealed through her letters that she's changed her name. She now goes by the name of Neiana."

Cyrus was taken back by that.

"What? Why? That name sounds silly."

"I think she was bullied during her training. It seems that her wild, feral ways were not welcome in Stormwind. Her name sounded too provincial, so she changed it to something less...human and more elven to compensate. At least that would be my guess."

The man sighed and shook his head.

"It's ridiculous, but if that's what she wants, then it doesn't matter to me."

The ship meandered slowly to the pier and then a figure materialized within the fog, although still black and indistinct. She wore the robes of a mage and a wide-brimmed, pointed hat. Cyrus was the first to exit the ship after the plank was laid out.

He turned to her. She had the blue eyes, tanned skin, and brown hair he'd remembered. But she was entirely too pretty and clean to be the Nina. But then a flash of her blue eyes, with a twinkle of mischief, caught his eye and he recognized her a once.

"Neiana, you've changed," he remarked.

"As have you," she replied.

The refined nature of her speech caught him by surprise. He was not expecting her to have changed that much in the course of six years. Had her training been that difficult?

"Lass! It's been ta lon' ya know!" Skinflint declared as he gave her a huge bear hug. "What do ya think yer' doin' changin' yer name ta some outlandish 'lvish contraption!"

"Oh Skinflint, I missed you!" she declared as she returned his hug.

"It is good to see you again, child. Although I don't think I can call you that anymore," Denevell said.

That is when Wigget decided to pipe up and introduce herself. She extended her hand.

"Hello! My name is Wigget Spindleswift and I am a Warlock. I am from a Noble..."

Skinflint gave her a warning glare.

"...Gnomeregan. I hope you'll have lots of things for me to fix!"

Neiana shook her hand heartily.

"Pleased to meet you, I am Neiana. Those are some very pretty robes!"

"And what would a stinky troll like you know about robes?" Cyrus teased.

"More than some meat-head with metal for brains would!" Neiana replied tersely.

"What kind of name is Neiana? Who are you trying to fool? Last I checked, your ears aren't pointed," Cyrus replied mockingly.

She gave him a hot glare.

"They'll be none o' that! Ya kids better 'ead on ta tha inn 'n rest fer tha night! We 'ave a long ride ahead o' us!"

"How about my mount?" Cyrus asked.

"We'll take care of them when they're unloaded from the ship," Denevell said.

"Oh! I'll go with them! I have my mount with me all the time," Wigget exclaimed, referring to her Felsteed that was only a summon away.

"They'll be tha death 'o me fer sure!" Skinflint declared as he watched them retreat to the Inn.

"You'll be fine. Your kids are all grown up, after all."

Skinflint sniffed. "Oddest pair 'o dwarfs I've ever seen if that's what they be," he muttered.

* * *

Meanwhile in Tarren Mill two Blood Elves, along with an Orc Hunter, crossed the gates into the foreboding town.

Sol glanced around him with amusement. The dilapidated fences, the sad, weather worn homes and the gloomy town hall all pointed to one thing: Forsaken.

"Nothing says the 'Forsaken,' like a rusted hinges and boarded up windows," he observed wryly. "I can practically hear a worgen's cry from here."

"Pft, Darkshire was spookier," Lucilin commented offhandedly.

"How did you even manage to get along in an area with so many humans? How did you stand the stench?" Guntag, the Orc, asked.

Beside him crawled his pet, a rather large, green, hairy Deepmoss Venomspitter that Guntag lovingly named GlubGlug. It crawled and skittered beside them, with a great deal more self-awareness and intelligence than most thought possible.

"It was a pain," Lucilin said. "But we managed, didn't we."

She gave Sol a little smile, but he did not return it.

"No human must have been safe," Guntag muttered.

"You'd think, but he spared a little girl. He even gave her a present," Lucilin teased.

Guntag was aghast, and yet pleased at the same time.

"I was thinking that you never showed humans any mercy. But that was more than just mercy, that was kindness," he exclaimed. Then, turning to Lucilin, he continued. "Was he sick?"

"No, I wasn't sick," Sol replied. "I was under orders. Also, I don't hurt children. It's not my style."

The elf looked quite different than he had those years ago. He'd cut his short and now wore it spiked. Years of dealing with the Forsaken, and living among them in their gloom, had robbed him of the sun. His tanned skin had paled. He was now a Paladin, having trained with the Blood Knights shortly after his time at Elwynn Forest.

"And that's why I stick around despite the fact that the two of you are a bunch of arrogant pricks. You have honor, Sol. I admire it," Guntag said deferentially.

"Why Guntag, I thought it was because GlubGlug liked Lucilin," Sol replied with a teasing grin.

"That too," Guntag murmured.

"You can't blame her. She's got excellent taste," she remarked as she patted it gently on the head.

"Well, let's go to the Inn, or pitch a tent, and get situated. This place is under constant threat of Alliance attack, so we must be vigilant," Sol commanded.

"You aren't kidding," Guntag said. "I was ganked here three years ago by two Alliance goons...more than once. Luckily there was a priest nearby. They were only fooled by Feign Death once. This is excellent hunting ground for the two of you, and a fertile for that little game you like play."

Sol smirked.

"Bring it."


	4. Chapter 4 The Game

**Ganked V 2.0b**

**AN:** I know that the quest that will be presented here is a little different than it is in the game, or was rather, because it no longer exists. But keep in mind that I am not writing about the world as it is in a game, but rather as it would be if the world were real and subjected to the same laws as ours. One cannot carry five bags into battle, filled to the rim with heavy items, for example. And just as in "real life," there is always the chance that things do not go as they are expected to. Chaos and uncertainty are just as big a part of life as the physical laws which govern it.

**Chapter 4 The Game**

It wasn't long after arriving that Sol and his party became ingratiated in Tarren Mill's hectic way of life. Not a day went by when a group of Alliance would try their luck and attack either the Mill or the people around them, or a group of Horde would try the same at Southshore.  
Although the minor skirmishes were always thwarted, it didn't end their onslaught. It didn't help that there were few casualties suffered from either side. Due to the overabundance of Paladins, Druids, Shamans, and Priests, the skirmishes ended only when someone got tired of being resurrected. Constant battle made everyone laugh at pain. What hadn't they felt before healing?

Sol and his group didn't participate in too many of those raids, but instead found amusement trying their luck hunting their favorite prey: Alliance humans. One of the games they liked to play involved the human weakness to Blood Elf beauty. Although few Blood Elves thought the humans were attractive, the opposite was the case with the humans. And so it was easy for them to find a lonely and isolated man, or woman, and then trick them into following them somewhere for a supposed tryst, only to end up killing them off instead.

But Guntag was getting restless. He tired of simply going out, hunting some human, and ganking him. Instead, he wanted to do something that would serve the Horde and the greater cause. After some deliberation, it was decided that they would speak to High Executor Darthalia about the job she was peddling.

She was less than friendly when they introduced themselves, demanding that they stand at attention (even though they weren't soldiers, they were mercenaries), dropping big names, and making all sorts of demands. After Sol asked her who it was they would be attacking, she merely shrugged a violet robbed shoulder and said, "Six farm hands, six farmers, Farmer Getz and Farmer Ray."

"I see," he replied. "And I so there is not a single woman living in that farm? I find that a little odd."

"No, there isn't, but what difference would that make, Paladin?" she hissed.

"Well, where there are women, there usually are children about," he explained.

A slight smile crept over her parched lips.

"You are soft," she hissed. "I wonder if you're the one I can use for this little endeavor."

"Oh no, we will do it. I'm sure you had the best rogues scouting the area," Lucilin interrupted, a little embarrassed at her partner's weakness.

"Well, then, go. Come back when you are done and you shall be rewarded."

Off they went to Hillsbrad Fields to disrupt the supply lines and try to soften it for attack. The farmlands were relatively easy to kill, and they did so, without alerting anyone due to Lucilin's stealthy hands. Next came the farmers, who by now had begun to get nervous. The farm had become too quiet.  
It was a muffled cry from one of the farmers that alerted the rest to a problem. But by then, it was too late. GlubGlug's web locked two of them in place, which were quickly felled by Guntag's sword. Sol easily stunned one, picked off the other who was running away, and then finished the first with a clean cut to the abdomen. Lucilin sliced the last one's throat.

"There we go. Now all we need are Getz and Ray," she said.

"One is in the orchard, the other in the house," Guntag said.

"I'll go to the orchard, you guys can get the one in the house," Lucilin said.

Lucilin disappeared into the shadows and went up to the orchard. She very carefully crept forward, only to find Farmer Getz tending his plants. He was completely oblivious to what had occurred. And he remained oblivious even until death. The other two were not inclined to be stealthy, so they merely burst into the house, where they found a very frightened, and determined man waiting.

"You will not prevail!" he declared.

Guntag didn't care for the farmer's garbled speech. Instead, he unleashed his angry spider on the man. Although he fought valiantly, the beast's fangs and powerful limbs undid him. Sol didn't participate. He didn't have to. It was over in less than a minute.

"Well, Guntag. I hope you're satisfied now," he said rather glibly.

"Sh..." Guntag commanded with a raised hand.

Sol noticed that he had his eyes closed, turning his head with concentration.

"What is it?"

"There is someone else here," he said.

"Did Farmer Getz survive?" Sol asked.

"No...it is not him."

His eyes then opened with a flash and he turned to a corner of the room that was covered with several boxes.

"There you are, human!" Guntag roared as he swiped the boxes away.

They smashed against the wall with a violent crash, breaking into several pieces. The human hiding beneath was a little brown haired girl, in a simple pink gown, barefoot and dirty from playing in the mud. Her tear-streaked face was at first blank with shock, but at once she broke into a shrill, piercing scream at the sight of the giant Orc and his deadly spider.

At first no one said anything, as they stared at the screaming girl with disbelief. Why was she there? Had she been a daughter of one of the farmers? Was she a neighbor's child, visiting the farm out of desire to play with the animals? Was she an orphan that Farmer Getz had taken in?

"I... don't ...understand," Sol stammered, but then his stammer became an enraged roar. "She's not supposed to be here!"

"What does it matter?" Guntag said coldly. "We were told to kill the humans here."

The sight of a little girl being mauled to death by a giant spider, probably one of her greatest fears, was too much for Sol to bear. He swiftly, and not too gently, plucked her up and dragged her, kicking and screaming, out the back door. He set her down and then knelt, making sure that she faced him.

"Shh!" he commanded her, holding his finger up to his mouth.

Then, without a word, he pointed to Hillsbrad Fields. At first she seemed to refuse to move, fear having frozen her in place. But he reminded her of what awaited her if she refused by pointing back to the house. There, in the shadows, loomed the giant Orc, blades in hand, standing beside the menacing arachnid.

Nothing else had to be said. The girl ran back to the town, fleeing to safety as quickly as her little legs could carry her. As Sol watched, hoping, his heart sank when he saw two Forsaken appear above a ridge. One of them, a Priest, cast a shadow bolt in her direction. She was dead in an instant. The two then approached the body and stood before it, glaring at Sol, daring him to come and try to resurrect her. It was a common tactic that was used when an enemy was killed, in order to prevent someone from coming by and resurrecting his body. It was jarring watching it done to a civilian, and a child at that.

"I was a painless death," Guntag said, offering some comfort.

Sol was about to turn away, when he saw the other Forsaken, a rogue, bend down and reach out to the corpse. The grotesque nature of what was about to happen sent bile up his throat, and he could no longer bear to watch.

"I'm going now," Sol declared.

"Yes, let's," Guntag agreed.

When they arrived at Tarren Hill an hour later, they were in a rather dispirited mood, except for Lucilin, who did not witness what had transpired. Sol didn't even bother turning in, as the others did, and declared flatly that he would have nothing else to do with her and her quests. When High Executor Darthalia inquired over him, Lucilin quickly responded that he was not feeling well and was resting at their tent.

"Surely those farmers were not too difficult a challenge," she said with a mocking tone.

"There was a girl there," Guntag explained. "Sol was not...happy with that."

"A girl? But there was no girl there," she declared with a cruel grin.

A chill ran up Guntag's spine. "But there was..."

"At ease, Hunter. You have done well on the Hillsbrad front..."

Sol was nowhere to be seen for the rest of the day. It was only when Lucilin and Guntag arrived at camp that they saw him seated by the fire, watching the flame as he sipped on a hot drink. The camp was located within the walls of Tarren Mill, adjacent to the farm, since the Inn was filled to capacity.

"I think I will retiring early tonight," he murmured as he entered the wide tent.

It was clear he wanted to be left alone.

"I am sorry that he is like that," Lucilin said. "He generally doesn't care. But when it comes to children, he just seems to lose his composure."

"No, don't apologize for him. It is right for him to be so. If we were all that way, then we would not be so hasty in war. I, myself, have a child who lives with his mother near Ogrimmar. It is comforting to think that even in times like these, that there are lines that are not crossed."

"True," she said with a weak smile. "I just wish he weren't so quick to show it. He ...makes a spectacle of himself when he does."

"Do not concern yourself with the Forsaken. They have no honor."

When Guntag awoke early the next morning, Sol was gone. His bedroll was neatly rolled and placed in a corner. His armor and weapons were missing. Lucilin was out by the fire, wearing plain clothes and preparing breakfast. She looked a little bedraggled, which was rare for her.

"What happened to Sol?" Guntag asked.

"Oh, I don't know, he's just around," she replied with feigned indifference.

Neither of them thought much of his disappearance until noon. It was then that the party became concerned. After it was discovered that his Charger was not in the stables, Lucilin's concern turned into panic.

"He's gone off on his own! Doesn't he know what can happen here in Hillsbrad! He will be ganked," she said with a hurried gasp.

"I believe he is strong enough so that most will let him alone," Guntag said evenly, trying to calm her down.

"I'm going to don my armor. Guntag, please make yourself ready," she commanded.

"Go on, I am always ready," he growled back.

After she was dressed, it occurred to them that they had no way of resurrecting him if he was found dead and within the allotted time frame for resurrection.

"We must find someone who can resurrect him if need be," Guntag observed.

Lucilin looked about her in a frenzy. Her eyes fell on a rather forlorn looking Forsaken Priest, with long, moss green hair and slack jaw. His white robes were rather dirty, but not tattered. He was poking the mud with a stick, trying to find some bugs for lunch.

"You there," she commanded as she pointed to the poor Priest. "You are to come with us."

He looked up and then pointed at himself with shock.

"Me? But..."

"No time to argue! Get your horse and follow," Guntag commanded.

That was the final word. Moments later, the three charged out of Tarren Mill, desperately trying to find their lost friend.

Guntag was correct, however, and Lucilin's worry was largely unfounded. Few Alliance went about the Hillsbrad Foothills in the morning, looking for victims. Also his mount, a Charger, marked him as a seasoned warrior instead of a mere novice. So the scattered Alliance parties that were met in the wild steered clear of him, looking for easier prey or too busy in their own quests to bother with him.

As it was, he was riding in a less traveled part of Hillsbrad, on a northern grassy slope, beyond Hillsbrad Fields and near the border of Arathi Highlands. There, upon one of three ridges, he could see the green expanse of Hillsbrad before him: the patches of forest, the rolling hills, the neat farms and the blue sea beyond, all rose to greet him. It was a sight he appreciated as an elf, especially as a Blood Elf, who preferred the warmth of the sun, unlike his more nocturnal Night Elf cousins. The serene beauty of the vale lifted his spirits and removed the sting of the previous day's events.

Then it was that he spotted a small figure in the valley below. It was a mage, he saw plainly by the violet pointed hat that he wore and the staff that lay beside him, although he could not ascertain the sex, since the long green cape and hat hid him completely. The mage was quickly, and deftly, picking some Mageroyal. So intent was he in his work, that he did not notice the Paladin approach, even though the Charger's heavy armor made him less than stealthy.

It was not until he blocked the mage's sun by standing directly to the east, barely three feet away, that the mage took notice. He paused, set the clippers down and then very carefully and deftly reached for his staff. The hands that held the staff were gloved in purple trimmed leather. He was clearly getting ready for a fight, if that's what Sol wanted. But he knew, from the mage's armor, that there was no contest. He held the upper hand, so he was not at all concerned. The previous day events had sapped his killing intent, so he was feeling generous, and would allow the mage to run or hit him first if he was feeling suicidal.

But the mage did neither. As he rose, Sol saw quite plainly that it was a human woman. And when she lifted her head, allowing him to view it beyond the wide brim, he noted her blue eyes were filled with fear. Some of the flowers that she had picked fell carelessly from her lap to the ground. But she did not run. Clearly, she wanted to continue her work and was hoping he would pass her by without incident.

Sol smiled, or rather smirked, at her as he watched her stand her ground, shaking and fearful though she was. He began to circle the mage and took notice of her brown hair, which was put up in a smart bun. Her skin was tanned and ruddy. She was quite young, perhaps eighteen or nineteen if he estimated human ages properly. By human standards she was quite pretty. If he wanted to, she was a prime candidate for the game he liked to play. But the fact that she was so devoted to her craft made him reconsider. There was a reason why she was willing to die upon that particular hill: gathering up flowers that were fairly common and not particularly expensive to buy. That reason was more than just a love for plants or money, it was personal. And he could not help but respect it.

At last he nodded to her, allowing her to continue with her work while he circled around, guarding her from outside interference. She somehow understood his intentions and returned to her work, but hurriedly so as not to strain his good graces. It wasn't long before she was done.  
As she turned to leave, he noticed that a flower was left behind on the grass. He swiftly dismounted, which got her attention. She quickly turned to him, ready to cast Frost Nova, thinking herself betrayed. But instead of him standing behind her with a sword, he held a Mageroyal in her direction.

"You dropped this," he said in Thalassian.

He knew from experience that humans considered it a very beautiful language. She noticed that he was smiling at her. He had enjoyed giving her a scare. Instead of taking the flower, she reached into her pack and picked another Mageroyal flower and single Peacebloom.

"Take this. If you mix it with that Mageroyal you will get a minor rejuvenation potion. It is easy enough for anyone to do. If you want..." she offered with her palm open.

He wondered why it was that she was speaking to him in common, as though he could understand him. The fact that he could understand was beside the point.

He shook his head. Instead of taking the herbs, he held her open palm with his left hand and then placed the flower on it. He then gently bent her fingers over the herbs with his right hand. All the while, he held fast to her. The effect was for her hand to be cupped between his.

"I am afraid I can't. You see, I am not an alchemist," he explained in Thalassian.

It was an innocent remark. But being unable to understand him, she would imagine he said anything.

The effect was immediate, her blue eyes widened and glistened, her cheeks became flushed and pink. She slowly withdrew her hand and lowered her gaze.

"I'm sure that you can't use them. Perhaps you are a jeweler," she said rather breathlessly.

Was it his imagination? Did he see her hand that he'd just freed inch towards him, as though asking to be grasped once more?

A voice from behind interrupted them.

"Neiana! Stay away from him!" a man called.

The woman turned to the voice. And for the first time, he realized they were not alone. There were two Alliance mercenaries standing not ten feet away, mounted but ready to strike at the slightest command. One of them was a diminutive Gnome. Although looking rather comical in her fury, standing on her raging Felsteed, experience had taught him that they could be rather fierce in battle. They were not to be trifled with. The other was a human male, a Warrior, who seemed very proud sitting atop his swift brown steed.

"He won't hurt me, Cyrus," she called back.

"You don't know that," the gnome said in her shrill voice. "Do as your brother commands and return to us. Skinflint was worried. You know how dangerous these parts are if you wander around on your own."

That is when the Warrior dismounted and unsheathed his sword. Although Sol was sure he could take the Warlock and Mage if he needed to, the Warrior was a more experienced than the two. This made him a wild card.

He would have prepared for battle, but instead decided on a little gamble. After the Warrior dismounted, she turned back to him apologetically. But his face was immovable. He merely raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, as if to say, "Well, I spared your life, will you now do the same?"

"Don't you think he would have ganked me already if he wanted to?" She argued, turning back to her two companions.

A little smile creased his lips. She'd passed. And it was then that the three horde comrades arrived, the Hunter Guntag with his trusty spider GlubGlug, Lucilin, and the nameless Priest. The Forsaken always made humans feel unnerved, even among those who regularly dealt with them. Neither Cyrus nor Neiana had spent too much time in areas that were populated with them. The priest's slack, drooling jaw, did not help. And somewhere within the group, they could feel, if not see, the presence of Lucilin, stalking the area and ready to strike.

"They have a rogue," Wigget observed, worriedly. "Maybe we should have brought Denevell."

"Shall we attack now?" Guntag asked.

"No," Sol said. "There is no reason to. They were just about to leave."

Meanwhile, Cyrus looked at the stacked odds and didn't like them. At best, they could tie and make a break for it, and that is if they could get to the Priest. But at that moment, his first priority is getting Neiana out of harm's way. She was so near the spider, its legs brushed against her robes.

"I think you should come with us now," Cyrus said, this time with more urgency. He extended his hand and gestured for her to come.

She gave Sol a pleading glance. He nodded. It was then that she followed Cyrus' command. Since they hadn't brought her mount, she climbed on Cyrus' steed after he did. She took one lingering look back after mounting. Cyrus gave Sol a respectful nod, and they galloped toward Southshore.

"That was a close one," Lucilin said as she materialized beside them.

"What were you doing anyway?" Guntag asked.

"Taking a walk."

"No, I mean with her. You were just standing there, talking," Guntag said.

"He was playing the game, didn't you see?" Lucilin replied.

"I didn't," Guntag retorted.

"Well, I was playing a game, but not the one you're thinking of, Lucilin," Sol explained thoughtfully.

"Did you win?" She teased.

As he watched the group retreat, he caught her turning her head, stealing a forbidden glance.

"I believe so," he replied with a sly smile.

That is when he turned to the Priest. The Forsaken took that to be his queue.

"Sir, if I may introduce myself. I am a poor priest with a Knight's heart who is trapped by the Forsaken's cruel fate of following the path I lived in life."

"And what was that?" Sol asked.

"What's he bumbling about?" Guntag snarled.

The Forsaken must not have heard him.

"You see, in life my name was Sir William Author Wolfgang Wagner III. I was a renowned scholar, spending every waking moment surrounded by books! Stapling them, shelving them, giving them out to little children..."

"It sounds more like a librarian," Lucilin quipped.

"But then the Scourge came...and I became infected and lost my senses. Now I am but a poor Priest, who can only dream of the life I wished to have while reading the books of Knights and Heroes, and Chivalry. So I wear the robes of a Priest against my wishes, but to be a Paladin as yourself! To fight giants with a sword in hand! Now that would be my most sacred wish."

Sol's long, right eyebrow rose slightly with amusement. Clearly this guy was out of his mind, but then again, he was Forsaken.

"Anyway, what's your Forsaken name?" he asked, trying not to laugh at all the chivalry nonsense.

"Oh, I don't have one! I decided to keep my last ties to the world of scholarship, by keeping my name, which is Sir William..."

"Bill it is," Guntag grunted.

"Bill? Well, I don't mind that. Short, sweet, and it sounds much better than what they usually call me."

"What's that?" Sol asked.

"'Shutup.'"

"I can't imagine why," Lucilin remarked sarcastically.

"I like him," Sol said. "Stay. I think you will do much good with us. Indeed as a Priest, you will be our most valuable member."

"You do me much honor!" Bill said with a gracious bow.

Lucilin rolled her eyes.

"Oh great. More Sol worship," she murmured derisively.

* * *

When Cyrus arrived at the Inn with Neiana, there was no happy greeting. Instead, Neiana felt she was a little girl, being scolded by her parents as she stood before Denevell and Skinflint. They had managed to secure a room, even as busy as it was, because Skinflint knew the innkeeper and had had dealings with him in the past. The girls shared the bed, and the boys slept on their mats. It wasn't exactly fair, but as Cyrus wryly noted, it was to be expected.

"What do ya think ya were doin' lass, goin' off by yerself in these 'ere dangerous parts!" Skinflint demanded. "Don't ya know the 'orde are not ta be trusted!"

"But they're not all bad!" Neiana exclaimed.

"Yes, they are!" Cyrus began.

"That's hardly fair," Neiana argued.

"Oh? And you don't think that they have something up their sleeve? I just know the Forsaken are planning something devilish!" Cyrus said.  
This is when Denevell decided it was best for him to interject.

"Neiana, the issue is not whether they are good or bad. There are many good members of the Horde as there are bad members of the Alliance. The issue here is that they are our enemies, and that is why they are not to be trusted."

Skinflint nodded sagely at this advice.

"Ye take that ta 'art girl. I dunno want ye ta get mixed up wi' some bad sorts 'cause they're Alliance, or killed 'cause ya thought 'e was a nice chap!"

After a few moments, Neiana thought of what was said and nodded. "I understand."

"Over some Mageroyal too! Of all the stupid things to risk your life over. You know Aunt Jill would not have cared..." Cyrus declared.

Neiana's eyes flashed with anger and she raised her hand to slap him. But quick as lighting, he gripped her wrist and stopped the blow from making contact. He held her wrist tightly and did not let go.

"She took care of me too, you know. You weren't the only one who lost someone important that night. She wouldn't have wanted you to die over some flowers. As much as she loved them, she loved you more," he explained in a low, even voice.

For several seconds, silence hung heavy in the air as the two people glared at each other, not breaking their stare in a contest of wills. Denevell broke the tension by clearing his throat.

"Perhaps we should end this discussion here. Just promise us that you won't do it again," Denevell said to Neiana.

"I promise," she murmured dejectedly.

"Ya kids are gonna be tha death o' me! I can feel it in me bones!" Skinflint declared wearily. "If Jill could see ya now, fightin' like 'arpies, she'd regret savin' the two 'o ye. Now get ta tha stable's, Cyrus, and care fer yer 'ourse. Neiana, don't ya 'ave some plants ta crush? Go on then. Git ta it!"

"Yes sir," they both said contritely before leaving them.

Wigget followed after Cyrus, excited to help with horses.

"I have all sorts of ideas on how to make equestrian care easier. You know, I even have an electric brush I invented..."

The door shut, leaving the two men to think of Neiana's narrow escape. After a few minutes, Denevell turned to a weary Skinflint, who was feeling too old for these sorts of things, and asked a question.

"Do we know for certain that they are not blood relatives?"

"That we do. Jill found tha boy in tha swamps o' Wetlands, somehow u'armed 'n the girl we found in Elwynn Forest...why do ye ask?"

"They do not act like brother and sister," Denevell replied bluntly.

Skinflint scoffed at this.

"Them two? They're children is what they are! Bah, ye n' yer 'lvish fancies..." He paused and stroked his beard thoughtfully, considering the possibility. "Per'aps it be best if we got 'nother room. I think tha Inn keep, 'e owes me another favor...just 'ncase."

"Hrm. It would be wise."

* * *

Cyrus and Wigget went to the stables, and she kept him company while he brushed the mane of that handsome brown steed. As they talked for a while, it became evident to Wigget that he had his mind somewhere else. He didn't even notice when Neiana entered the stable.

"Well, Neiana, how are you?" Wigget asked cheerfully.

The woman looked rather contrite, fiddling with her hands and looking to the ground ashamed. Cyrus turned to her, gave her a derisive glance, before giving his attention back to the horse.

"Listen, guys, I'm sorry for going off on my own. I put myself, and everyone else, in danger. I didn't...think and it was detrimental for everyone. I won't do that again," she began.

"It's OK. We all do something stupid when we're young," Wigget said.

Cyrus momentarily paused before continuing his work.

"Also, Cyrus, I'm sorry I tried to slap you up there. It doesn't matter how angry..."

"It wouldn't have hurt anyway. You wizards are always so squishy," he interrupted.

Neiana laughed nervously. "I guess that's true."

It made her sad that he had still not turned to her but she had little reason to stay in the stables. There was nothing for her to do but to leave.

"Well, I guess I must be going to crush some flowers, as Skinflint puts it."

"See you later," Wigget said cheerfully.

Cyrus said nothing. Neiana gave Cyrus one last glance before leaving for the Inn's basement, where she had put all her alchemy supplies.

"Do you realize how rude you were?" Wigget asked Cyrus.

"I don't care. She still doesn't realize how much she made us worry. And I bet she still hopes to run into that stupid Elf at some point."

* * *

He wasn't wrong. Neiana wished very much to run into him again. He had touched her in a way no man ever had, quite literally. They were not a particularly affectionate culture, and touch between sexes was simply not done except with family, medicinal purposes, or betrothal. No man had ever held her hand in such a way, or expressed himself to her so boldly. The fact that the man happened to be a Blood Elf, and an enemy, didn't bother her in the slightest. If anything, it intrigued and excited her.

Although he looked like Autumn she was certain that he was not the same elf. Autumn was an old man to her, a father figure. But this elf, who was undoubtedly everything good and noble to be found in a man of any race, was obviously young like herself. At night while the others slept, she would lay in bed, thinking of him, conjuring up desperate scenarios by which they would meet again. All the while her hand would tingle where he'd touched it. It didn't matter that she was gloved when he had. The warmth of his touch still penetrated the leather, and kissed her skin.

But it would be a long time before she would see him again. Shortly after their encounter, Sol and Guntag decided to go north, towards the Arathi Highlands. Skinfklint, not wanting a repeat of any foolishness, and guessing correctly that the Horde group would head north, directed his party south instead. They traveled all the way down to Stranglethorn Vale before it was decided to head to Kalimador. One place in particular, a land of serenity, silence and snow, tugged at Denevell's heart.

At the same time, Sol and his friends embarked on their own journey, on a flying ship heading for Ogrimmar. It had been too long since Guntag had seen his family. And from there? Who knows? Perhaps they would head north. Winterspring was said to be beautiful, after all.


	5. Chapter 5 Sojourn at Winterspring

**Ganked V 2.0b **

**Chapter 5 Sojourn at Winterspring**

Nearly one year passed since their time at Southshore as they crossed through Timbermaw Hold over to the frozen land of Winterspring. It had been a long journey, made longer by the many stops, quests, and dungeons that had proved a ready distraction along the way. Still, Skinflint thought that it would be a good place to ready themselves before entering the newly discovered Outlands, and there were some items there that one could not find anywhere else. It was that reason, and Denevell's wish to see his old home, that they now crossed into the powdery white land.

As they passed the cool, dark of the tunnel and into the white light, they blocked their eyes. The afternoon sun shone so brightly upon the snow, that they were momentarily blinded by the glare. Neiana held her hand against her eyes, the others did the same.

"Fire n' Smoke! Tha light is bright 'ere!" Skinflint declared. "What fool place 'ave ye taken us ta ya 'lf!"

"The light is not so bad once you get used to it, and much of these lands are covered by woods, providing a welcome shade. They were once quite alive before the taint reached us," Denevell soothingly explained.

"Hmph, ye n' yer 'lvish love o' trees. Give me a good bit o' stone ta work wit' n' I'll show ya what's alive!"

"I prefer gears myself. There is lots to do with gears that will liven things up for sure," Wigget declared.

By this time, they had adjusted to the glare, but most could not keep from squinting.

"Let's head on to Everlook. I'm sure that Skinflint has had dealings with the Inn keeper there. Perhaps we'll get a discount," Cyrus wryly noted.

It was becoming a bit of a private joke that Skinflint had dealings in nearly every port, town, and city in both continents.

"That be true. She owes me a favor she does, but I dunno if it'll come ta that. Few enter these 'ere glades nowadays."

"Will we be the only ones here?" Neiana asked.

"Probably not, as there are a few things that can only be found here. Icecap is one example. Darklotus has also been spotted, if you're lucky," Denevell explained.

"Also there be Truesilver 'ere abouts, or so I've 'eard," Skinflint happily interjected.

Down in Everlook, Guntag was preparing some Rough Leather and Blue Dragon Scale hide. Their stay at Winterspring had lasted nearly a month. Sol had found a great deal of silver and jewels to create his beautiful works. Bill had collected enough Icecap and mountain Silversage to make half-a-year's worth of beautiful Sapphire Pigment. Although the art of glyph writing, hadn't been discovered yet, he loved making ink. It was a common enough skill, since nearly everyone needed it. For now, it was used for a practical purpose: journal writing. He wrote a great deal of personal information in the most flowery language, so unlike Sol's more concise style.

For Sol, all he needed was to write the date and a short description of the events, and everything would come to mind if he were to read it. Of the day in Southshore that he ran into Neiana, he merely wrote:

_Southshore, Spring - Day 41_

_Neiana. Mageroyal. _

But for Bill, that was not enough. He always added a dash of drama to his entries. It was all great fun for Lucilin, who would read over his notes whenever she was bored. She liked a good laugh. But for Bill, this was a serious stuff. He was planning to publish his work after he was done, under the name of Sr. William. Not that any of the party knew about it, of course.

That day Lucilin was too bored to even glance over his scribbles. She lay upon her bed in the Inn, and stretched one of her legs up in a childish, idle manner.

"There is nothing to do here anymore!" she said with a yawn.

"Well, why don't you cure some of the leather you've acquired? You should take your leather work seriously, Lucilin. You'll never know when you may need the money," Sol chided.

"Yes father, but I think I've done enough curing for one day," she snapped.

Their relationship had become more strained as of late, on account of Sol's apparent change in personality. After leaving Southshore, he inexplicably became more serious and withdrawn, no longer hunting humans for sport. Instead, with a fourth member of their party added, his attention shifted back to battle. She had participated in the Battle for Arathi Basin she didn't know how many times. Although they came out of the experience quite richly equipped, it was less fun for her. She had joined him because of his glib, irreverent nature. But now with Guntag, and his talk of honor, and even Bill, and his love of all things Chivalrous, it seemed that he was being influenced in a way that she decidedly didn't like.

Besides the four, the only other group at the Inn consisted of three Alliance females. One was a Night Elf druid with short aqua colored hair. The other was a blonde human warrior who needless to say, spent most of her time ogling at them when they were together.(At that moment she was looking at her, while she pretended to sharpen her blade.) The third was a rarity, a Dwarven hunter, female who ventured out of Ironforge. She never paid any of them any mind.

"You should really stop staring at them, Lorenna. They're heads are swollen enough as it is," the elf said.

"But I can't help it, Daela. They are so pretty!" Lorenna exclaimed.

"It's ya weakness, ya know..." the dwarf murmured.

Lucilin shot Sol a quick glance. Although she couldn't understand what was being said, she knew he could. His only reaction to the conversation was a slight, amused smile, as he continued crafting his item.

"Hmph," she murmured. "Two years ago she would have been hunted and killed. But they've been staying here with us for a month and both yet live. What a waste."

"Maybe we have better things to do now," Sol murmured back.

"Like dig up some ore and make trinkets? Maybe you've gone soft," she shot back with a glare.

Bill stopped his writing and Guntag paused for a moment before continuing, pretending he hadn't heard. GlubGlug slinked behind her master, as though anticipating the fight and wanting nothing to do with it. Two Alliance women openly gawked, while the dwarf politely feigned indifference and tended to her pet, a giant direwolf. This hadn't been the first time the two elves had fought.

"Hold your tongue or you'll find yourself without company," Sol said in a casual tone.

"Well, you've got some nerve as much as we've done," she replied haughtily. "Maybe if I were some human girl, you would be a lot more generous."

She rose from the bed and approached him. Her arms crossed as she glowered over him. Sol stopped his crafting at last and set it down, before rising to meet her.

"I told you that I had already pairbonded before we met. You knew this and yet it was you who pursued me. Perhaps you were too young to realize exactly what that meant, but it is not my problem if you failed to listen after repeated warnings," he yelled.

"If that is so, then maybe I should take a cue from you. Find a human vermin to mate with and birth some half-breed spawn. That is what you prefer, is it not?"

Her voice was seeped with acid so corrosive, even the usually dense Lorenna was affected.

"I'm goin' out," the dwarf woman said at last. "I've no business 'ere now n' neither do ye."

As she stood to go, her human companion gasped. Sol had raised his and, as though to slap Lucilin. But his swing narrowly missed, hitting the concrete wall instead with such force it cracked. By this time, the Inn keeper had entered the building, trying to see what the commotion was about.

"You're going to pay for that," the diminutive goblin, Vizzie, said.

"By the Light! He almost hit her, did you see that?" Lorenna exclaimed breathlessly.

Clearly, she was enjoying the spectacle. Lucilin, on the other hand, was completely unfazed. Even if he had struck her, she would have considered it a victory. The fact that she could arouse in him such fierce passion excited her.

"I got a rise out of you at long last, Sol," she teased.

That's when Sol's demeanor completely changed. His tense body relaxed and his face broke into an amused smile.

"What was I thinking getting so riled up? It's only you, after all," he said. Then turning to the goblin, he removed a few gold coins from his purse and tossed them at her. "Will that be enough?"

The goblin examined the pieces intently.

"I think I'll need a few extra to cover the labor," she replied.

"As expected from a goblin," Sol said with a relaxed laugh.

By this time, the dwarf had succeeded in herding the woman and the Night Elf toward the door.

"I wonder what they had argued about," Lorenna said as she was shoved out the door.

"Beggin' yer pardon!" the Dwarf told Sol, even though she knew it wouldn't matter, before turning to go herself.

With the goblin also gone to see about hiring someone for the repairs, the four were left alone in the Inn. Sol returned to his work, trying to keep the argument from resurfacing. He just knew that if he even looked at Lucilin again, she would open up her "big mouth" and say something snippy. It seemed to be in her nature to have the last word. But he needn't have worried. It was not Lucilin who broke the heavy silence, but Guntag.

"Now that the nonsense is over, it may be of interest for you to know that another group approaches from the West."

"Oh? How many? From which faction?" Sol asked, looking up with interest.

"About four, maybe five. They're Alliance," Guntag replied.

"More Alliance," Lucilin said with a groan. "That's exactly what we need. Good thing we're leaving tomorrow."

"Well, I'm not going to stick around here to greet them. I'm taking a ride. And Lucilin, don't even bother chasing after me this time," Sol declared.

With that said he put on a heavy cloak and headed outside.

As he got his mount ready, he heard the three Alliance girls talking beside the stables.

"Did you say that more people are coming, Geldie?" Lorenna asked.

"Ya, 'bout five more," the dwarf replied.

"Well, I hope one of them is handsome. I am so tired of those elves. They're pretty but snotty, especially the female," Lorenna said.

"I would like to see a fellow Night Elf. There is one in the group, no?" Daela asked.

"Ye lasses think ta much 'bout love. Ya should be thikin' 'bout makin' money, not babies," Geldie said.

"I was just hoping for the company," Daela said defensively.

"You dwarves think about babies too little! I'm surprised that there are any dwarves at all," Lorenna argued.

"Well, ye better be thinkin' less 'bout it, Lorenna, less ye find yerself goin' 'ome wi' one in yer belly!"

Sol chuckled as he mounted his horse. They must have heard him, because the three women immediately stopped talking. Their eyes were glued on him as he passed them by. He gave them a slight wave as he trotted by on the Charger.

"Do you think he could understand us?" Lorenna asked the others.

"Even if he didn't, we should be more careful," Daela said.

When Sol left the gate, he turned to the west and saw the group of Alliance approaching quite clearly, but they were indistinct. The sun was already hugging the western horizon, so they rode on with the light against their back. He observed them approach for a few seconds before heading straight towards the lake. The ruins were beautiful, and he was sure there were a few ghosts left to kill.

Meanwhile, Guntag, Lucilin and Bill remained in the Inn, busy with their own preoccupations. GlubGlug had decided to comfort Lucilin. She was stroking her tough green fur while she lay contentedly on the bed.

"You really are a pretty spider," she began to murmur.

"Lucilin," Guntag called.

"Yes? What is it?" she asked with annoyance.

"When you said that thing about having a half-breed, is there a reason for it?" Guntag asked.

"I was just pointing out that he has a weakness for human girls, is all. Why?" She replied offhandedly.

Bill and Guntag looked at each other, before Bill, to her surprise, replied.

"We have suspected for sometime that the woman which was pairbonded with Sol was human," he explained.

The idea stunned Lucilin. She froze in the middle of petting GlubGlug, much to the spider's dismay.

"What? Why? Did he tell you anything?"

Guntag shook his head.

"Hrm, no, but I have thought of it since that day at the Hillsbard Farms. Although I didn't relish the idea of killing a human child, I would have done it for the sake of keeping the mission from becoming compromised. I know for a fact that _they_ would have done the same. But his face when he saw her...it was like everything died at that moment and nothing else mattered but letting that little girl live," Guntag explained.

Bill nodded.

"Although I wasn't there, I heard it from the two Forsaken who were given the task of watching as you work. They not only confirmed what Guntag said, but also laughed at Sol's apparent horror at a simple cannibalism, something I'm sure he'd witnessed many times before."

"Well, no one likes _that_!" Lucilin cried defensively.

"And then there was that girl at Elwynn Forest," Guntag continued. "I remember you teased him about it once. What did he say? That he did not kill children. But he didn't merely spare her, did he? No, he gave her a gift."

"He felt sorry for her," she argued. "You should have seen her! She was ragged and dirty."

"That was more than kindness. That was unrealized paternal love, Lucilin. Love that he also displayed with my son when we visited earlier this year. I am a father, I could see the pain when he thought no one could see. It is as I would feel if Gullang were suddenly taken from me."

She eyed them silently for a second before continuing her argument, although with less conviction.

"Ok, so he was a father. I knew he had been pairbonded. He told me so himself. So that doesn't come as a surprise. But why especially does it have to be a half-breed?"

Once again, it was Bill who pointed out what they were both thinking.

"We were not sure ourselves, but as you can see by the wall, the mention of a half-breed, as you call them, made him act in a very _un_chivalrous manner. Very odd, wouldn't you say? And as you noted, he does have a weakness for human women, as much as he likes to pretend he doesn't. That woman in Southshore, for example, was in no danger."

Lucilin bit her lip and sank back into the bed. She rested her head upon her hands and then gasped.

"Oh by the Sunwell, what have I done? He will hate me forever..."

Guntag and Bill could see her shaking, even if she hid her tears well.

"Listen, Lucilin, we know how passionate you can be, and how you feel. But if there are any more disturbances like this, I will ask you to leave. We will be going to the Outlands soon, a very dangerous place by all accounts. We don't need the distraction. Sol has some renown, and he makes money. But it will not be difficult to replace you, do you understand?" Guntag said with more harshness than he intended.

She nodded silently as she turned from them, hiding her tears in shame. GlubGlug poked her with one of its legs, begging for a pet.

"Oh you, I must be good or who knows what you will do," she said as she gave the emerald spider a pat.

That is when the silence outside was broken by a disturbance. People were laughing and shouting at once. Backs could be heard being patted and above the den, the rough, garbled dwarvish was heard. It seemed that several surprise reunions had occurred.

It was then that Neiana entered the room, unaware that she had just been the topic of conversation. The inn keeper was with her.

"Which beds did you say were ours?" She asked Vizzie.

"Oh those four, but I don't think I can let any more of you stay. I don't have any more, room, unless someone decides to sleep on the floor - or leaves."

"We'll take turns. We're quite used to it," Neiana said generously.

"Well, I'm going to see about your mounts with the stable boy. I hope you enjoy your stay!"

She sat upon the bed, lay her pack on the floor, and sighed. It had been a long trip and she was ready for the welcome rest, and the bed, although she was willing to give it up if someone else wanted a turn.

No one recognized her at first. It wasn't until she removed her cowl and unclasped her heavy cloak that Bill curiously glanced up from his scribbling. And then, there to his amazement, he recognized the very girl they had been talking about, Neiana. But he had to be sure. Lucky for him, a man burst into the door, followed by a very familiar Gnome woman.

"Neiana! Did you know that Geldie is Skinflint's niece?" the man asked.

She looked up, surprised.

"What?"

"And get this, the elven woman, whose name is Daela, is the daughter of one of Denevell's oldest friends. Can you believe it? We're going to have a big party at Donova's. She's back from the hot springs and she and Skinflint go way back!"

"Why, Cyrus, I haven't seen you this excited in a very long time. You've been rather broody lately, I was starting to get worried," she said.

"Oh, and the human Laurenna is one of Cyrus' friends from Theramore," Wigget offered happily, wanting to join in the fun.

"Is she? Well, I can't wait to hear all the stories she must have from your time there," Neiana said with a grin.

"Oh, well, I wouldn't call her a friend," he said, embarrassed. "I... was more like an acquaintance and..."

"We should hurry. You know how dwarves are, if we don't get there first they'll drink all the ale!" Wigget exclaimed.

"You're right. Let's go!" Cyrus said hurried. He took Neiana by the hand and led her out the Inn.

"But my cloak!" she exclaimed.

"Oh you'll be warm enough," he said.

He took the edge of his cloak and wrapped it around her shoulder, holding her close.

"You see?" he replied with a teasing grin.

The darkness hid Neiana's blush.

"Yeah..."

The party left and the three horde characters remained, largely as they had been before the woman entered.

"Rowdy humans," Guntag grumbled.

"I know. They have no sense of propriety," Lucilin sighed, forgetting that she had been the noisy one only moments before.

Bill said nothing. He knew that if he aired his suspicions, that they would do everything in their power to make sure that Sol did not see her. Oh, it wasn't as though he was pining after her. He would be surprised if he had thought of her at all in the last year or so. But still, if the interest had been there before, then there was no reason it wouldn't surface again once they met. More than likely, nothing would happen. But if it were, and if he were to lose his head and fall in love -with a mere human and an enemy at that- then it would end in disaster.

As a human he had been quite the romantic, falling in love easily and pouring over books on knighthood and chivalry. Now as a Forsaken, although he was drawn to the same subjects, he did not have the sentiment to understand them. Conflict and love were things to be studied and experimented with, much in the same way that an Apocathery studied and experimented with plants and their effect on humans.

He turned his journal to that day, just to be sure, and read the relevant passage.

_...Sol and the woman stood in the field, for what must have seemed an eternity. They said nothing, nor did they move. Her right hand held the staff, beautiful and statuesque, glittering in the noon-day sun. Sol held her left hand between his palms. Slowly and reluctantly, she withdrew her hand, only for it to betray her, inching forward, as though yearning once again for his touch. _

_So entwined were they in each other that they did not hear the two Alliance dogs come up behind them. One of them was a gnome Warlock, proud and haughty, sitting tall on the flaming Felstrider. The man was a warrior of much renowned, proud and fierce, his eyes burning with jealous furry. _

_"Neiana, get away from him!" he called. _

_She turned to him. _

_"Cyrus!" _

He laughed wickedly. This would be fun to watch.

**AN:** Thanks for the reviews!

I have speculated that elves in general have the ability to be bonded with few people romantically due to their long life spans. Let me explain, they live longer and have a high infant life expectancy. This leads me to believe they have a much less active libido than in other races which are short-lived and therefore require larger families for survival. This leaves elves free to concentrate on other pursuits. I don't think elven marriages are too physical, as we don't see many children after hundreds of years. It could also be that they simply have a harder time conceiving.

A long life, coupled with a more spiritual perspective would lead to deep bonds. If not mate for life, it would be extremely difficult to form another bond that would match the romantic intensity of the first experience.

At any rate, that concept of "pairbonding," finding one person and then forming a deep physical and spiritual bond, which would make it extremely difficult for the elf to fall in love again, is my invention. But I think it is plausible.


	6. Chapter 6 Into the Fire

**Ganked V 2.0b**

**Chapter 6 Into the Fire **

Bill had a harder time starting up his experiment than he had anticipated. The first problem was Sol, who actually stayed out all night and did not come back until morning, feeling refreshed and invigorated after a dip at the hot springs after a night camping out. Apparently, his bed was an obliging tree. He shrugged at Lucilin's concerns. There was not a creature in these parts who could do him any damage.

Secondly, the Alliance members stayed out all night as well. The party lasted into the night, and they were too polite to disrupt the sleeping Horde members. Some, like Cyrus, had partied too hard and were suffering for it the next morning.

And third was Neiana herself, who was not cooperating. What was she thinking going out of Everlook on her own? Didn't she know how dangerous these parts where?

It was around nine o'clock that Sol finally crossed the gates into Everlook, looking thoroughly refreshed. On his way in, he noticed a mage crouched over an herb, quietly collecting it by the wall. Since this was a common enough sight, he paid it no further mind and continued on his way. After dismounting by the stables, he nearly bumped into a human who was leaning heavily against Lorenna. They were on their way to the well, he desperately needed a glass of water.

"You drank too much last night. Forget going out today, you'll be useless," Lorenna teased.

"The light is so bright. Take me indoors before my head splits open!" he moaned.

"That's what he gets for challenging a dwarf to a drinking game!"

The voice came from the ground and that's when Sol noticed there was a gnome woman trailing them. Her elaborate maroon robes marked her as a Warlock.

To the right, beside a group of homes, he saw Geldie the dwarf, looking very refreshed and ready for work. Every strand of her golden brown hair was perfectly in place, combed, with a single braid hanging off the right.

"It seems that 'umans can't 'old as much as they boast, can they, Uncle Skinflint."

"That they cannot lass," Skinflint replied.

He was nearing a venerable age. His beard, waist length, was still brown but was spotting considerable strands of gray. He wore the armor of a fellow Paladin with pride, silver and white, contrasting with Sol's black and red plate.

"Ya know lass, I am thinkin' we should go ta tha hot springs wit' Donova. Maybe we'll 'elp 'er find what's cookin' it," he said.

Sol winced. He hated that accent more than anything. He remembered how much he hated it when he traveled the length and breadth of the world before the Scourge hit. He decided he didn't care much about what was happening and headed to the stables.

But that was not the end of his run-in the Alliance. At the stables, Daela was conversing with another elf druid, a male, with vivid purple hair and a thick beard.

"So you think we should stay at Starfall Village? I do have family there, although it has been a long time since I have seen them," the man said.

"Well, when I stopped by, Wynd Nightchaser invited me to stay in one of their empty rooms. I'm sure he can find us accommodations, Denevell" she offered. "Besides, they wanted me to go into the ruins of Kel'Theril, but Geldie and Lorenna said they weren't interested in going to some stuffy old Night Elf ruin. I really wish to go, though..."

"Hm, young races have very little appreciation for history. I will talk it over with Skinflint," Denevell.

_It seems the group is fracturing,_ Sol thought.

It wasn't a complete surprise. This land was rich in minerals and rare herbs, but it was not particularly dangerous. Danger was generally easy to spot, Yeti and corrupted Furbolgs abounded, but easy to avoid by simply not going into caves or fortified dens. Other than the occasional saber cat and bear, which were easily dealt with, there was little to fear. Unless one traveled South to Frostwhisper Gorge. That place was so dangerous, they hadn't visited during their stay. Sol and Guntar judged that a five man group was optimal. Sure they could survive the trip, but they weren't fools. It could wait, despite the treasures it held.

Furthermore, it was no longer a popular destination since the opening of the Outlands. So it was common for larger groups to splinter at their leisure without fear of ganking. It made sense that the dwarf would be enticed by geological phenomena, while the elves would be more interested in their own history and explore Kel'Theril.

When Sol entered the Inn moments later, he found most of his party gone, with only Bill the Forsaken Priest, and the two humans and a Gnome. One of the humans, the big lug of a man with auburn hair, lay on the bed with his head on his hands. The blonde hovered over him with a vial filled with purple liquid. The gnome was standing on the head of the bed, leaning over the man. She was so light she barely made a dent on the shallow mattress.

"Just drink a little of this Cyrus and you'll feel better," Lorenna said with a grin.

"Yeah, do you want to sleep all day? It won't take the whole thing. Just a little bit of that you'll be ready to go in less than an hour! I promise!" the gnome said.

"But, it's valuable..." Cyrus groaned.

"Just a sip will do," the gnome insisted. "Give him the stuff Lorenna."

Sol glanced at Bill, who managed to roll his eyes without having proper eyes and put his head on his hands.

"They've been like this all day!" he moaned.

"Was there a party last night?" Sol asked curiously.

"Yes, but they were polite enough not to have it here, at least. It appears that the three Alliance girls are all connected to the party that arrived last night in some way. It was a huge reunion," Bill explained.

"I see..."

Inquiries were made after the two other teammates. After it was learned that they left very early in morning to search for him, he sighed with displeasure.

"I told her not to follow me," he said.

"Well, you know Lucilin. She couldn't help herself it seems."

"Indeed."

It was then that Neiana entered the room with a clump full of Icecap. Her face was hidden beneath the hood of her heavy green cloak. She entered without paying attention to the two Horde within.

"Did he take the potion I made?" she asked hurriedly.

"He says he refuses to because it is too valuable," Lorenna replied.

"Well, I can always make more. But each day is irreplaceable, so take it," Neiana said with a serious tone.

She removed her cloak and set it upon the bed casually. Bill, hoping for some drama, flashed a look in Sol's direction to see if he had noticed anything. But, to his unending frustration, he had not. This was not good at all! This wasn't how it went in all the stories he read, where the man, upon seeing his beloved for the first time in a while is frozen in shock.

Instead, Sol had picked up the project he'd been working on for a while, a Thorium setting. It was clear that he was planning on making another one of his trinkets, as Bill thought of them. Although they brought them a lot of money, and they were shiny and pretty enough, as a Forsaken he simply could not understand the appeal. Perhaps he had in his human days, but not now. It generally took several days of work to complete one of his pieces of jewelry, and that was if it didn't involve cutting the jewel. That act alone could take weeks. So when he set his pieces, he took utmost care.

Bill knew that if he didn't act now, that all would be lost. And how would he add drama to his work if Sol refused to cooperate?

"I think they look familiar," Bill said offhandedly.

Sol was too busy working on his piece to pay him any mind.

Bill cleared his throat.

"I said, _I think they look familiar,_ Sol, wouldn't you say?"

That got the Blood Elf's attention.

"What did you say?"

After Bill repeated the observation for the third time, Sol looked at the group curiously. It consisted of two human women, a gnome and a man. The blonde woman he knew. But the rest he couldn't quite place. It wasn't until the brunette woman called the man by his name, Cyrus, that a flicker of recognition passed through his face.

"Huh, I think that's the same group of Alliance that we ran into at Southshore. Well, what do you know. What a small world it is," he said dismissively as he continued to work on his setting.

Well, that was the end as far as Bill was concerned. No forbidden romance; no dramatic declarations of love; no desperate chases and duels. He was really looking forward to that part: an epic clash between Cyrus, the human warrior and Sol, the Blood Elf knight, for the hand of the fair...whatever her name was. Pity that Sol had to go on and be so bloody pragmatic. Oh well, he just had to cross that out of his list of things he would put in his book.

"I'll be going out to tell the two that you are here. They gave me the pattern of their search, just in case you were to arrive before them," Bill declared grumpily.

Sol nodded absentmindedly as the Forsaken left in a huff. Meanwhile, the Alliance group had made plans. Wigget was going to study under one of the engineers in the area. It would take her all day, she said, because engineering was complicated.

"I can't just take a schematic and copy it in my book and consider it learned. It takes a whole day to study and pour over every part and piece, and then days to construct it if I must."

Meanwhile, Lorenna had a great idea. There was a cave that until recently had crawled with Yeti. But due to theirs, and a certain orc's, hunting prowess, the cave was completely cleared. It would be weeks before a wandering yeti would find it and month, maybe years, before it would be as populated once again. While they were hunting the yeti, she'd noticed some silver and lead deposits. Perhaps Cyrus would like to go with her while she collected them, just in case the cave was not as empty as it was thought.

At first Cyrus refused to go, but Neiana insisted. She needed to work on some dried specimens and prepare the plants she had just collected. Cyrus left with some reluctance, taking his pick axe along with a sword. A little smile crept up Neiana's face as she watched them leave. She thought they made a cute couple, and it was clear that Lorenna wanted to spend some time alone with him.

Then she got to work. She opened up her back of herbs and removed from it a towel. In the towel were several older herbs she'd picked some days before, now dried and ready for preparation. She took a clump and put it in the mortar, before she began to grind it with a pestle, careful not to let any extra bits spill.

It was then that Sol, knowing he was alone and free of disturbance, glanced at the woman working. She was certainly the same girl that had made an impression with the passion she exhibited to her work. And here she was, now working to her heart's content. It saddened him slightly that she hadn't remembered him at all, for all the impression he'd thought he'd made on her. But no matter, he would let it go. And so he looked down and continued on with his work, but it wasn't long before he felt a pair of eyes looking in his direction. That is when he noticed that the shuffling and grinding of her work had stopped.

He looked up, only to find that she had stopped working, although her hands were still on the pestle. She was looking at him, her eyes filled with recognition.

"What are you doing? You should complete your work, silly girl," he teased in Thalassian, knowing full well that she wouldn't understand a word.

It worked. She blushed and, although she didn't understand what he had said, seemed to understand the meaning behind the tease. It was with some effort that she continued on crushing the herb, trying very hard to concentrate. It made it worse when her approached the table and sat in front, openly staring at her work. He could tell she was nervous because her pestle began to shake slightly.

"You missed a spot," he said, pointing to a leaf that was still intact.

She frowned and crushed it.

"And there," he said.

She took her pestle and crushed that piece of stem that he was pointing at. He frowned with mock displeasure.

"You are no good! You've missed the whole leaf here," he teased.

This riled her up and she glared at him defiantly. She thrust the mortal and pestle in his direction. There was a challenge in her irritation.

"You do it then," she said.

He pretended not to understand, pointing at himself with puzzlement.

"Yes, you, go on and do it if you're so bloody good at it. I want ta see ya try."

The slip of the accent was noted, but he merely assumed that it came from hanging around Dwarfs for too long. Instead, he busied himself with irritating her more.

"It's a bunch of flowers. How hard can it be?" he remarked offhandedly, with as much elf arrogance as he could muster.

He began to crush the clump. Being an elf, he'd lived long enough so this skill was not completely foreign. If he wanted to, he could fake it. But at the time, he did not. He accentuated his clumsiness.

"NO! You're doing it wrong. It's not...no you're going to spill it! Oh, my Light!"

She reached for it but he snatched it back.

"No, you wanted me to do it, so I will," he said with mock defiance.

He began his clumsy work again, noting that she was becoming increasingly desperate. Too much work had been put into gathering those plants for her to let it all waste. She reached for it again desperately, but this time, he let her catch him. Perhaps she didn't notice, so intent was she in saving her work, that she quickly placed her hands over his in an effort to stop him. He obliged. She immediately flinched and drew back, blushing once again with embarrassment.

He nearly continued their little game, when he became alerted to an incoming group of people. Instead of rising swiftly with shame, as a boy caught with some contraband, he merely passed the mortal and pestle to her casually, which she took swiftly, and turned to meet the group. Guntag could be heard roaring from outside the stables.

"I'm going to get that snooty Blood Elf. I'll tan his hide and feed him to GlubGlug!"

"I'll help you along," Lucilin declared.

"Now, now, he did say not to follow, Lucilin, if you recall," Bill interjected.

The three burst into the Inn, talking among themselves. Sol stood to greet them.

"He's right, Lucilin, I told you not to follow me," he said evenly.

"You were gone all night, Sol! You can be such a selfish ass sometimes," she yelled.

He raised his hand in her direction, as though cautioning her to stop, and the pointed at Neiana, who was busy pressing the flower she had recently required. She as only half-pretending that she didn't notice the argument, as she was once again becoming immersed in her work. The Blood Elf had done a surprisingly good job considering his apparent clumsiness.

Lucilin bit her lip shamefully. This was the second time she'd lost her temper over him, and both times before Alliance wretches! It was all too embarrassing. Maybe Guntag was right and she should just leave the group. As she simmered with anger, Sol turned to them and began to share with them an idea he had been mulling over while teasing Neiana.

"You know, it is rather too late to leave. Why not head down to Darkwhisper Gorge instead? There is a great deal of Thorium and Darklotus there, enough to finance our trip to the Outlands without a problem."

"But we decided it would be best with five of us so that none of us is got killed in the process," Guntag retorted.

"That is true," Sol said as he sauntered to them. "Which is why I propose a fifth person for the expedition."

"But who?" Lucilin asked, confused. "There hasn't been another Horde member..."

That is when she noticed Neiana, innocently working on her herbalism without a single clue that she was now the topic of conversation.

"...you don't mean to say..." she began.

"I do," Sol replied simply.

Bill could have jumped for joy. His experiment would go on after all! The drama was already being layered thick. He could tell that there must have been some sort of dramatic meeting that they were obviously hiding from everyone out of pride and embarrassment.

"I am not sure that's a good idea," Guntag said.

"I don't see why not. Her party has splintered. The Dwarves have headed to the Frostfire Hot Springs. They should be busy there for days. The Elves have gone to Starfall Village. The rest of the humans have undertaken a mining expedition to the Ice Thistle Hills, which should take all day, and possibly night, and the gnome has gone to apprentice with Zap and Xizzer. That leaves her alone for a while, with nothing to do but crush leaves," he explained.

"How do you know all this," Gunter asked, curiously.

"Vizzie told me," he lied. "At any rate, I don't see why we shouldn't take her with us. It's not an expedition that is of particular interest to the Horde or Alliance. It would be beneficial to us both, and with the proper incentive, she could be persuaded to help."

"Hrm, that's true," Gunter murmured. "And if I recall correctly, she is the same person we ran into at Southshore. She didn't seem without Honor, unwilling to have you ganked when the Alliance had the chance."

Lucilin thought back to the time in Southshore, when they first ran into Neiana. She thought that they had merely been interrupted in the middle of their "game." But now she realized that though it had been a game, it was not the one she was accustomed to playing. This game was as ancient as the eldest among them, and would continue until the last man and woman on earth breathed their last.

She understood at last the peril he was under. It was not jealousy that drove her this time, but a cold calculation. This enterprise, though profitable, was a ruse. He was looking for a way to keep her near and prolong their stay. How better to do it than to offer them what they all wanted, fortune and adventure? But if they were to stay and if he were to reveal the truth, that he could speak common and heaven forbid, pairbond with her, then it would be disastrous. It was bad enough when High Elves pairbonded with humans, the union itself was frowned upon, and the children generally held in disregard. This prevented much mixing among them. But at least then, they were allies. But as enemies? The world was not big enough to harbor such a mistake.

Lucilin, being somewhat intelligent, formulated a plan of her own. She had to accept the woman's inclusion for the expedition while protesting against it. Then, after the expedition was complete, she would kill her.

So that is exactly what she did. Lucilin argued loudly against the whole idea, calling him a traitor, weak, and claimed she was bored of the area. She even accused him of the very motives she had considered. A lesser man may have been shamed into ending the expedition. Truth be told, she was hoping that he would. But seeing that he would not yield, she at last begrudgingly agreed.

Bill, enjoying the drama, was up for anything. And Guntag was concerned for many of the same reasons that Lucilin had mentally listed. Unconsciously, he came to the same conclusion as Lucilin. They should take her, use her services, and then gank her once they were out of the Gorge. Even if it dissolved their group, even if Sol ended up hating them, it would be the best thing for him. He needed to cut all ties with the past and understand, quite seriously, that this is war. For all of his talk of hating humans, it seemed that he did not hate them _enough_.

"If Lucilin agrees, then I will go as well," Guntag finally said.

Sol then turned to the girl and tapped gently on the table, in order to get her attention without startling her. She looked up with trepidation. The truth was that even in Neutral ground, she was intimidated by four set of Horde eyes on her, some of which were only slightly veiled in their hostility. The Forsaken had no eyes at all, but merely stared at her with hollowed out black eye sockets where his eyes should have been. It sent a shudder up her spine. Only Sol's eyes, which were reassuring while maintaining a cool distance, kept her calm.

With her attention locked on him, he removed a map from his nearby atlas, unrolled it before her, and pointed to Darkwhisper Gorge. The meaning was ascertained at once. She pointed at herself, shocked.

"Me? Are you saying you want me to go to Darkwhisper Gorge with you?" she asked.

He then said three words in Thalassian that he knew she would understand, even if not perfectly. They sounded almost exactly the same in every language.

"Thorium. Diamonds. Darklotus."

Then he extended his palm toward her, spreading his fingers so she could clearly see that he meant "five." The meaning was plain even with the language barrier. If she went with them to help collect the items they desired, she would get a cut from the loot, equal to that of everyone else. Although she sensed that he was not lying, she could not bring herself to agree. She did not trust them, even Sol. The words that Denevell had imparted in Southshore had not been forgotten,

_Neiana, the issue is not whether they are good or bad...The issue here is that they are our enemies, and that is why they are not to be trusted._

She shook her head slowly.

"AH! She will not go," Lucilin exclaimed. "She's not quite as stupid as I thought she was."

Sol narrowed his eyes, glancing at her judiciously. Indeed, she was not as childish as he had thought her to be, for all her blundering and blushing.

"Lucilin, bring me my Jewelry Case," he commanded.

She obliged and handed it to him without complaint, for once. Truthfully, she wondered what it was that he would try to bribe her with. Many of the items contained in the box were of some value. It was only due to the very strong sense of honor among adventurers that he did not take it everywhere with him.

He opened it, and to Bill's surprise, removed only the Thorium setting that he had been working on.

"Diamond," he said once again, handing it to her.

At first, Neiana didn't quite understand what he was offering. But then, at long last, her eyes widened with excitement. She rose swiftly from her chair, almost knocking over the work she had spent so much time meticulously doing.

"The Diamond Focus Ring! You will give me the Diamond Focus Ring for helping you?" She could have hugged him for sheer happiness.

He smiled, pleased with himself.

"This will augment my intelligence! It will increase my mana reserves by quite a lot...Are you sure?" she asked, forgetting they couldn't understand.

Then she turned to him one more time.

"So let's be clear: Diamond, Thorium, Darklotus, and Ring," she said holding the ring aloft.

Sol laughed at her audaciousness. Of course she wouldn't be getting _that _much. And so they haggled wordlessly for several minutes, while the rest of the group watched, fascinated. It was as though they were watching a silent auction in progress. At last it was decided: she would get the Diamond Focus Ring, a full share of Darklotus, half a share of Thorium, ten percent of miscellaneous drops, with the right to roll for relevant items when they appeared, and absolutely no diamonds. That was fine with her, she didn't have a need for them anyway.

Then he did something that surprised Neiana, even though it should not have. They were going on an expedition, after all. He pointed to himself and said a single word.

"Sol."

"Oh! That's right, your name!" she exclaimed. "Well, I should give my name too!"

She pointed to herself and said quite proudly, "Neiana."

Lucilin snickered loudly.

"Like we don't know. What a stupid name. She's one of those fool humans who tries to come up with a silly Elvin sounding name. I wonder what her real name is. Probably something stupid, like 'Lulu.'"

For the first time since meeting them, Neiana's feelings became genuinely hurt. Although she couldn't understand the words, she knew that Lucilin was mocking her. Indeed, her tone was exactly the same as the bullies who had bothered her at school.

But instead of crying, she put her hand on her chest defiantly, glared at Lucilin and said once again, "Neiana!"

"Hrm, she has pride, that one!" Guntag said with admiration. He pointed at himself.

"Guntag." Then he gestured toward the fearsome spider, "GlubGlug."

Neiana wondered if it was her imagination, but it seemed as though the spider gave a bow. That left only Bill. They all looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to introduce himself. But Bill merely stood still, vacantly staring at the table. The whole thing had bored him, there was no drama in auctions or pleasant introductions, so his mind was somewhere else instead.

Guntag poked him with his elbow.

"Introduce yourself to the lady!" he grumbled.

"Oh? Oh! My turn already?" He bowed before saying his name, "Bill."

"Bill?" Neiana asked, bewildered. "Bill! What sort of name is that for an adventurer? A Forsaken at that! I thought Forsaken were supposed ta 'ave odd names like 'Malfoie' or 'Raistlian.' But Bill? Fancy meetin' a Bill without a 'eart!"

Sol barely managed to keep his ruse of not being able to understand her. As it was, he bit his lip to keep from laughing.

"Well then," he said at long last. "Let's get ready."

Half an hour later, they were all packed and ready to go. Before they mounted and left, Lucilin had given the odd suggestion of taking all the bags with them. Since they had anticipated leaving the area that very morning, their bags had all been packed. She also wanted to take their pack mule, which was Sol's old Hawkstrider. Sol was in such a hurry, he didn't pay attention to the odd nature of the request. But Guntag noticed it immediately. Lucilin and Guntag's eyes met, and they understood each other at once. He gave her a slight nod, acknowledging his shared intentions.

Unbeknownst to them, Neiana had spotted that slight exchange. Although she didn't quite understand what was meant, their clandestine glances gave her a very strong impression that something was wrong. An acute sense of danger chilled her heart, and she nearly changed her mind. But then, as she watched Sol approach upon his Charger, he looked so gallant that her heart wavered and her worries were eclipsed.

He caught her staring and slowed his horse as he passed beside her. She held her mount by the bridle. With a cocky smile he held out his hand.

"Will you ride with me today?" he asked.

She glanced at the ground demurely and patted her lovely white stallion's nose. He grinned at her subtle refusal, he hadn't expected her to agree at any rate, and clicked his horse forward to the front of the group, taking his place as leader.

Neiana saddled her horse and took her place at the rear of the group, where she felt the most comfortable. Whatever Sol's motives, she didn't trust the others. The last thing she wanted was to be trapped between them. Before parting, she noticed Vizzie, the Innkeeper, pass her by.

A horrifying thought occurred to her then. She was leaving with a party of Horde to a very dangerous place, and not a single member of her group knew where she would be!

"Vizzie!" she called.

"What is it?"

"If anyone inquires about me, then tell them I've gone to Darkwhisper Gorge with these people, and that they've agreed to take me on as a full partner with promise of safety until we return tonight."

She sounded so much more self-assured than she felt. Vizzie's googley eyed stare had an appraising quality, as she measured the weight of the information with the value she believed it contained.

"I don't know if I will have the time. I am starting repairs to the Inn today," she said with feigned hesitation.

Neiana didn't have to wonder at the Goblin's motive. She removed two gold coins from within her purse and tossed them at the small, green woman.

"I suppose you will be able to find the time now?" Neiana asked with a hint of sarcasm.

"I think I can find the time," Vizzie said contentedly as she pocketed the money and waddled to the Inn.

With their interlude over, she looked up, only to see the Horde party members staring back. They had all been waiting on her. The Orc, Guntag, was not mounted. He could run as swiftly as any mount so he didn't need it. His trusty spider, who was a hideous green monstrosity to her, was clicking her legs on the ground, as though sensing her master's impatience. The elf woman, Lucilin, looked angry, or at the very least annoyed, that she had been made to wait at all. Bill's vacant eyes sockets were directed at her, seeing everything but revealing nothing. Only Sol's eyes provided comfort. They were calm and sure in that sea of anger and hostile intent.

She nodded at him.

"I am ready."

He acknowledged the signal and then turned to Everlook's entrance, urging his handsome armored steed forward. First in a steady gait, until he reached the entrance. Once passed, he urged his horse to a swift gallop. Faster than one would think possible with all the livery and armor, it set a frantic pace that they all readily followed.

Snow began to fall, covering the already frozen ground with a fresh, powdered layer. Neiana's heart beat swiftly as she passed under the heavy white arch of Everlook's entrance and entered a gallop herself. Before her lay danger, not only from the denizens of the Gorge, but also of her own teammates, who would as soon betray her as help. This uncertainty only augment the excitement of the chase, and she yielded herself to it. This is why she lived! And if she died, then it would be with her eyes fully opened, diving head first into the fire.n


	7. Chapter 7 Emerald Among Diamonds

**Ganked V 2.0**

**Chapter 7 Emerald Among Diamonds**

The ride to Frostwhisper Gorge came to a quick end. The close proximity with Everlook and the pace at which they rode guaranteed a swift arrival. As they approached the bridge that spanned the gorge, Sol stopped at the bridge's entrance and raised his right hand, signaling the rest to stop.

With discipline borne out of years of practice, they formed a line beside him. Guntag and Lucilin flanked him to his left and right. Bill waited beside Lucilin on the far right. Neiana followed their lead and took her place beside Guntag, to his left. Animosities were set aside, as survival trumped everything else.

The wind-chill was colder and fouler, clinging to their clothes and hair unnaturally. Although nearly noon, an overcast, violet sky let little light through. It was an unnatural overcast, not caused by the snow filled clouds that commonly passed through. Neither did it snow there, despite the ample supply that lay on the ground. There life stopped flowing in the stream of time, becoming stagnant and fetid with a decaying past.

Neiana shivered despite herself. There was something here that was hostile. It whispered threats and promises of dark things to come. Her horse pawed the ground nervously.

"Hush, Chesse," she whispered as she patted the horse's flank.

Lucilin gave her a look of contempt.

"Do you really think she knows what to do? She can't understand us. She won't be able to follow orders," she said.

"She's a seasoned adventurer, as we are. She will know what to do," Sol reassured her.

They pitched their horses adjacent to the end of the bridge before beginning their expedition. Each member took a single sack, empty save for a few provisions: food (generally bread, cheese, and fruit), drink (water in a canteen, maybe a little ale or wine), and first aid items. Guntag, the strongest of them, slung Sol's pick and shovel across his back. They were nearly ready.

"Guntag, try tracking the Giants. What do you see?" Sol asked when they were all prepared.

Guntag gave a brief synopsis. There were three giants by the end of the bridge; one was a Preserver. All three were quite formidable. Two of the three were standing in a group to the east, while the other giant was wandering around the area to the west.

After some deliberation, it was decided that the group would lure the strangler to them, kill him, and then they would kill others who were waiting at the end. Giants were stupid creatures. They knew from experience that the two on the other end would not notice a problem as long as the third did not actively alert them. Besides, even if it was the case, the bridge gave them a distinct advantage. The bottleneck created by three giants charging them at once would make the job of killing them that much easier.

Then, with a final glance around them, examining the area, he gave his command.

"Buffs everyone."

At first, everything went off as planted. The straggler was lured to them with one of Guntag's far-reaching bullets. As he charged with rage, Neiana, Guntag and Bill whittled away at his health with ranged attacks. By the time he reached them, too blinded by rage to notice his injuries, Sol, Lucilin's and GlubGlug's work was easier by half.

They soared with confidence at the early victory, but it was tempered by experience. Overconfidence took many lives in the wild. The giant was searched and nothing particular of interest was found.

They crossed the bridge part way and then Sol commanded Guntag to aim his fire at the smaller one to the left. Meanwhile, they would back up, hoping to make them charge at them one more time, using the bridge. But this did not happen, instead, the Giants seemed to have observed the way their comrade had died, and refused to follow the same course. They had no choice but to meet them in their own territory.

At first all seemed to go as planned, and one giant was felled while another was nearly spent, when a third, suddenly appeared from behind. Guntag had not spotted a giant that was hidden away behind a ridge. He was too distracted by the fight to sense it. So it managed to approach them without discovery. Simple mortal error and they were almost dead, as the giant raised a huge fist and crushed the Forsaken priest under his pressing weight. The undead man crumpled and lost consciousness. The blow thrust Neiana forward and she nearly lost her footing. Guntag too was unsettled. He called his Spider back and bade him attack the new mob that had appeared behind them.

It was at this time that Neiana earned their grudging respect, especially Guntag's, who was a fair-minded Orc. Besides honor, Guntag respected competence. Instead of screaming, or freezing in fear, as they cynically expected her to, she quickly regained her footing and began to help Guntag with the new beast using Firebolts and Blasts judiciously.

Sol could not look back and see what the commotion was about, as any distraction would cause his own death as a result of a well-aimed swipe. But experience had told him what had happened, besides, the support from the two magic users and the hunter was now gone. His chief worry was Bill, the priest. Lucilin finished the second, smaller giant, which gave her some freedom.

"What happened?" he asked as he dodged a large blow.

"The priest is gone! A third giant has appeared and now the girl and Guntag are fighting him."

"Poisson this guy, go help Guntag, and then have Neiana blast my Giant with the largest Firebolt spell she's got! We only have six minutes before he's gone!"

When Lucilin got there, she poked Neiana at the shoulder and pointed to Sol, who was still struggling with the Giant, who although near death was still formidable at twice his height and three times his weight. She got the message at once, her heart leapt at her throat and she watched the giant slowly press on him, grabbing the giant sword and pressing down, almost overtaking him.

She raised her hand and began to chant loudly, until the last words became a scream. Upon him, and falling all about them, rained down a torrent of magma and fire. It did not touch any of her party, for although they were enemies, she could mentally focus which enemies would become affected and which would not. The flames hissed and smoked as they touched the icy snow, melting it and forming puddles that would quickly freeze to ice.

Both giants screamed in agony. The one fighting Sol slumped forward, dead, his back still aflame, even as Sol was still struggling beneath him. The large beast became limp, and the creature's full weight threatened to crush the elf as he fell. But Sol was too quick and rolled away. The massive, burning, body crashed in to the snow. He proceeded to dislodge the sword from beneath the giant's felled body and rushed over to Bill's side. Just enough mana was left for him to resurrect Bill, the Priest, as quickly as he could. As soon as the spell was cast, and he saw the mangled body become whole again, being filled with golden light, he turned to the Giant and helped finish the fight.

Meanwhile, Neiana was too exhausted to cast any more spells. So she unsheathed her wand and did what she could. With the constant barrage of fangs, sword, dagger, gun, wand and spell, it didn't take long for the monster to finally come crashing to the ground.

It was only then that they gave themselves the luxury of rest. Neiana sat on the snow, and the others followed suit, except for Bill who felt rather refreshed after being resurrected, thank you very much. He rummaged through the corpses, gnawing on a few giant fingers while he scavenged for useful items.

A fire was built. They knew that the fight, although short, had taken a lot of energy and the work to come required them to be as recovered as possible. They all reached into their sacks and removed pieces of cheese, dried meat, and bred to refresh their bodies. Much to everyone's amusement, Sol sat beside Neiana. But the fire was small, and there were only four slots available for everyone to sit comfortably. It was Lucilin who caused it, by refusing to sit beside Neiana and leaving the spot beside her empty. Besides, Sol wanted to face Darkwhisper Gorge.

Over the ridge, they could see the dark expanse of the Gorge looming before them. It was a dark labyrinth of oozing slime pits and methane pools. Even from their vantage point, demons could be seen walking at irregular intervals, pacing their cherished ground.

"It would take months to properly explore that place," Lucilin observed. "That is if we don't get killed."

"Good thing we're only here for the Thorium and True Silver," Guntag observed.

Sol nodded.

"We'll try two veins tops. That should be enough anyway," he said.

Neiana could understand none of this, but she knew that they were talking business. So she began concentrating on lunch. She spread out a small towel on the snow with food, bread, jerky and some nuts. Now that the setting was more familiar, she had almost forgotten that these were not her friends. Out went the training she'd painfully received during her stay in Northshire concerning manners and decorum. She was hungry after such a big fight, so she simply went on devouring her lunch to heart's content. Nuts were stuffed into her mouth and barely chewed before swallowing. The bread was downed in three bites, followed by a large chug of ale. It wasn't until she got to the jerky (which she was tearing at with all the grace of a wolf) that she'd noticed that everyone was silent, staring at her with mix of horror and amusement.

The elves, in particular, were horrified. Lucilin slowly put down her food, having lost her appetite.

"Where did this girl grow up? With Kobolds?" she hissed.

"You must have been quite hungry. Would you like some more?" Sol said with amusement as he offered her a bit of his own food.

This shamed Neiana more than anything else. Turning a deep shade of crimson, she set down her food. Then, with as much grace as she could muster, she removed a kerchief from beneath one of her sleeves and began to wipe her mouth.

"I don't care where she grew up! I like a woman who enjoys her meal!" Guntag said heartily.

He followed it by a hearty laugh, which Sol joined. Neiana perceived that they were laughing with her, relaxed and grinned. She raised her glass, took a sip this time, and then laughed as well.

"Fire 'n smoke! Them Giants made me 'ungry!"

Bill too was there, now returned from the scavenge with a fist full of items.

"Is it me? Or did she just sound like a dwarf? But then again all Alliance sound the same," he said.

Sol glanced at her judiciously.

"No, Bill, you're right. She did sound like a dwarf. That's an odd accent..."

His eyes narrowed pensively for a second as they regarded her. She didn't notice, because she had buried her face in her cup, but then he turned his attention back to Bill.

"So what did you find?"

"OH! All sorts of things! You should see..."

Half an hour later, they were all packed and ready to go into the ominous land before them. Their expedition to Darkwhisper Gorge was actually less exciting than their trip through the bridge. Each demon spotted was killed off methodically, taking care not to alert any creatures nearby. Then, when a viable vein of Thorium was found, they stopped and set up shop. Now it was time for the unglamorous job of digging up metal, sorting through it, and separating the good stuff from the dirt.

Sol and Guntag removed their armor tops and began to alternately shovel and pick at the vein. Pieces of the ore were gathered on the floor and then sifted by Lucilin. Neiana helped by conjuring up spring water, which was used to wet the ore.

It was a very productive vein. Besides raw thorium, true silver and diamonds were found. The first time that Sol spotted a diamond, he removed it from the ore and showed it to Neiana. It was still just a rough looking stone, with little clue of how it would look after it was cut, but she knew what it was. She'd done this many times with Skinflint.

She smiled appreciatively and nodded, understanding his meaning. Sol turned and put it away in his jewelry box, before going back to his work.

At that moment, her earlier fears were erased and she wondered how it was that she could have misjudged them, thinking that they would betray her. Sure, Lucilin was cold, Guntag was gruff, and Bill was still creepy, but they were an elf, an orc, and a Forsaken, respectively. Of course their behavior would reflect their nature! And he had just shown her that he had every intention of keeping his end of the bargain.

The process of digging, picking, sifting, cleaning and gathering was repeated several times that day. Between each mineral vein, Bill and Neiana gathered up Darklotus they found along the way, dividing it up equally.

She became so comfortable with them, that she, along with everyone else, did not notice how quickly the time passed. By the time they finished up with their third vein, the sun was nearly set, although they could not see it in that dark, forsaken world. Guntag's stomach rumbled, signaling dinner time.

"I think it is almost time for the sunset," Guntag murmured. "Perhaps we should go back now that we are done with this vein. The path we carved to get here should still be clear."

The rest of the team readily agreed. Their tools were gathered, Sol and Guntag donned their armor and off they went. Everyone agreed the expedition had been successful, with enough ore and diamonds to sell for profit, and that was if none were used for crafting. He could craft several pendants, rings, and other items to more than make up for the pains. It wasn't just Sol who would benefit, but everyone else as well, as the team required a general fund for lodging, food, animal husbandry (including food, livery, and care), and general repairs.

So it was that they made it back to the entrance, only to find their coats still laying undisturbed at the campfire.

"It seems that the giants haven't bothered to climb up yet," Bill said.

"They are a lazy lot," Lucilin replied. "What do you expect?"

They passed by the campsite but decided not to stop. They were weary and they relished the idea of sleeping at the inn.

After crossing the bridge, Sol and the team began to pack up their stuff when Lucilin suddenly remembered something.

"Sol, I left my coat at the camp, could you get it for me?" she asked with annoyance.

"Why should I get it?" he snapped.

"Because this whole thing was your idea, that's why."

After a bit of banter, Sol finally agreed to go, if only to shut her up. Neiana was not paying attention to any of this, as she was trying to sling the pack of items up on her horse. The attempts were futile, as the bag proved too heavy for her to lift as opposed to hauling it on her back.

She was just about to ask for assistance when she felt something sticky cling around her knees. At the same time, the horse bolted with fear and an unseen hand stabbed her in the back. It was an expert hit, one meant to injure and not kill. Lucilin didn't want to do that quite yet. Neiana tried to cast, but all she said was garbled. As her body was consumed with by the sickly black light of a shadow bolt, her mind was able to register that she had been betrayed. She tried casting again and again, knowing full well that silence did not last forever.

_All I have to do is blink and frost, blink and frost,_ she chanted in her head like a mantra.

She felt her eyes grow weary. Poison? The blade that Lucilin was holding was poisoned, and the effect was a dull fatigue that seeped all the way to the bones. The spider clawed at her legs, biting and chewing. Guntag hit her with only one bullet, to the shoulder, but it drained her mana in half. And on and on Lucilin sliced her, splitting at the skin but not landing a mortal blow, watching with glee as the woman suffered.

It was then that she felt her magical abilities return. Still holding the heavy bag, she spoke one word, "Blink!" and instantly she was transported away. But what could she do then? Her body was numb from the poison, loss of blood, and injuries. She could barely walk from the pain, and her flesh ached to the touch.

That is when she noticed that the bag she'd been holding was empty. It ripped open during transport and the items contained within were scattered about the snow. A trail of loot marked the path from the torn web to where she now staggered, trying not to fall. She glanced up and watched the Horde running at her with full speed. Guntag was ahead of the pack, riffle ready, about to overtake her.

At that moment, she could not think rationally. Instead of thinking of a way to kill them, or escape, which was now impossible, her mind went to an item that had fallen out of the bag and on to the snow. It was an item she carried with her everywhere.

"My pendant! My Malachite Pendant!" she cried.

She knelt and began to sift through the snow. It was a small item, so it probably would have been one of the last to fall. It didn't take long for her to find it. It glittered green in the white snow, like an emerald among diamonds. As she reached to grab for it, a black gloved hand picked it up. She looked up, after the hand, to find herself face-to-face with Sol. The other members of the party hung back in a semi-circle, giving them space but close enough to charge if necessary.

_Why aren't they attacking?_ she thought.

Then she understood. It was Sol. He was the undisputed leader of the group. It was his money which largely financed the expedition, his judgment decided who would join the party, and now, they were leaving it up to him whether she would live or die.

He regarded her coldly before examining the pendant.

"What a ridiculous thing," he said in Orcish. "What a small ridiculous thing that you're so willing to give up your life for. I have made hundreds of these. I could make them in my sleep. What a foolish, ugly, pathetic woman you are. You and your vermin kind..."

The tone enough was enough for her to understand her fate. She would die, but she did not cry, or beg. Instead her mind was somewhere else. She was in Elwynn Forest, beside the clear blue river she knew so well. The Elf, with green eyes, who saw potential in her that no one else had, gave her something beautiful. She had never seen something so beautiful.

_It's green! Like yer eyes it is! _

That is when her eyes watered with tears. Not out of fear of death or a broken heart, but rather to mourn her loss of innocence. She realized then that her dream of seeing Autumn once again was gone. If she did see him again, he would be an enemy. Even if he were good, unlike Sol who stood before her, it wouldn't matter.

A wave of righteous indignation hit her. How dare he touch it! How dare he soil what was so precious to her with his dirty, filthy, traitorous hands. Still weak with poison, her arm shook as she lifted it, palm open.

"My pendant, give me back my pendant!" she demanded between clenched teeth.

He sneered at her.

"Ya dun deserve it ya blood 'lf snake!" she screamed with furry.

Sol flung it to the ground beside her before casting Judgement. A searing white light blinded her for an instant, and then, oblivion.


	8. Chapter 8 Flight

**Ganked V 2.0**

**Chapter 8 Flight **

It was not until around five that Wigget's training ended. The new schematic she'd received from Zap was intriguing. And though she'd poured over schematic for hours, she was still thoroughly convinced she didn't quite understand it all.

When she entered the Inn, she was surprised to see it completely empty of people. Only Vizzie and some goblin workers were there. There was no sign of her party. Although she knew that Skinflint and Denevell were gone, she fully expected Lorenna and Cyrus to have returned by now. Besides, where was Neiana? She should have been there, grinding up plants, as she usually did. Of the Horde party, there was no sign. Every personal effect had been taken, which meant they were gone for good. This conclusion was reinforced by the goblins, who were busy changing their sheets.

At first, Wigget didn't worry. She expected Lorenna and Cyrus back at any minute. Undoubtedly, Neiana became bored. There were plenty of places to see in Everlook. Perhaps she ran into an herbalist, or a mage. She didn't know about such things herself.

An hour passed, and then Wigget became concerned. At first, she merely went about the small town, asking the locals about her. But none of them had seen a human mage wandering around for hours. The one thing they all agreed on was that early that day, around eleven, the Horde party had left in a hurry. Some claimed that a fifth person joined them, but no one had paid too much attention since they were used to the sight of adventurers coming and going at all hours of the day.

Wigget did not make a connection between Neiana's disappearance and the party until she went to the stables. They were empty. All the animals were missing, including the one that should have been there: Neiana's white stallion, Chesse.

_It can't be! _She thought.

But why would she leave with a group of Horde? Perhaps she was mistaken. Perhaps she had left to pick some herbs and had gotten distracted. She swiftly returned back to the inn. Wigget didn't know what to do. That's when Vizzie caught her eye.

"Vizzie!"

"Yes? What is it?" Vizzie asked tersely.

She was in the middle of coordinating a change in the inn and she did not like getting interrupted, particularly by a gnome. Like most goblins, Vizzie didn't care for gnomes. She loved charging the a little extra every time she had to deal with them.

"Did Neiana happen to tell you where she was going?"

"I don't know...what's it to ya?" Vizzie asked.

Wigget glared at the goblin with annoyance. How she hated goblins. Filthy, ugly, green little money suckers they were. If it weren't for the fact that they made excellent engineers she wouldn't bother with them at all.

"I don't have time for this! Tell me where she's gone!" Wigget demanded, sensing then that something was very wrong.

"Listen sister, I don't have the time to talk. Time is money, and I could be making money right now instead of talking to you. So tell me, how much is this information worth?" Vizzie replied forcefully.

"Five gold," Wigget said flatly.

She decided to aim high. There was no time to haggle.

"Done deal," Vizzie replied with an extended palm.

Minutes later, Wigget burst out of the Inn and summoned her Felsteed. The large, bright red horse suddenly appeared in a plume of smoke. She dashed on it, as small as she was she had become quite adept, and began to contemplate her next move.

First she thought about going to Cyrus. But then it occurred to her that she didn't know the location of Ice Thistle Hills. So instead, she galloped to Starfall Village. Hopefully Denevell and Daela where still there. Not only could they lead her to Darkwhisper Gorge, but they'll be able to heal Neiana as well, if she needed it.

South of Everlook, the now vacant cave in Ice Thistle Hills, was carved into a hill overlooking the road. Although it hung back east, it was near enough the road so that anyone at that vantage point could see traffic quite clearly.

Lorenna and Cyrus had taken their time mining. As he walked through the opening of the cave onto the outside world, Cyrus noted that his bag was only half full of ore. It was a lot less than one would expect from such a rich site. But they hadn't really been paying too much attention to rocks. He adjusted the links of his mail gloved hand and then mounted his horse.

Lorenna was still busy getting dressed when he called her.

"Hey, are you ready yet?"

"It takes a while for us girls you know," she shouted back.

He grinned and shrugged his shoulders. He was about to give a cheeky retort, but then, a loud noise got his attention. It was the rumbling of mounts on a rough, snow covered road. He turned to look and there, on the road heading north, was the Horde party he vaguely remembered from earlier that day. Heading the party was a Blood Knight, covered in a luxurious black, fur-lined cloak. On foot beside him, but running with great speed, was an Orc Hunter and a large green spider. A female elf was riding a Hawkstrider behind him, and flanking her was a Forsaken priest upon his skeletal Warhorse and an unmanned Hawkstrider, probably the pack mule.

As he watched them pass by, he couldn't help but marvel. They seemed so gallant and proud. One of the problems with the Alliance was their unwillingness to cooperate. Every step was by committee, and heaven forbid anyone work together on anything. It was that lack of cohesiveness that he blamed for many Alliance failures, and why it seemed that they could never secure Arathi Basin, for example, or Warsong Gulch. But here they were, different races, many of whom, if intelligence was correct, hated each other despite being allies, moving as one unit.

Cyrus would never admit these things out loud, but he was content to watch them pass by. He wasn't worried they'd gank him. Whatever they were doing, they were in too much hurry to bother. But then, the elf that led the party turned to him. Even at a distance, Cyrus felt those cold green eyes on him. Instead of hatred, he felt a distinct sense of urgency. The elf, who Cyrus noted was black haired, motioned to the south with his right hand before he turned back ahead to the road. They passed as swiftly as they arrived.

_That was odd, _Cyrus thought.

There was something familiar about that group, especially the elf who led them, but he couldn't quite place them. Although he had an excellent memory, it was difficult to pick one out of the hundreds he'd run into in the course of two years. He wished he hadn't been so sick that morning.

It was then that Lorenna left the cave, still adjusting her belt.

"That was some workout. If I had known you had it in you, I would have asked you to come mining a long time ago," she remarked with a grin, but he was not paying attention. Instead, he was scanning the south.

"Hey, Lorenna, what is down there, south of here?" he asked, motioning with his head.

"Oh, there? That's where Frostwhisper Gulch is, and beyond is Darkwhisper Gulch. It's a scary place. Usually, it's recommended that five people go at least. Why?"

"A Horde party just passed and the leader pointed to it. He seemed..." he paused, trying to think of the proper word. "…worried? Could it be that something is coming?"

"There is no way. Those demons just wander about the gulch, and the giants at Frostwhisper don't go anywhere," she explained.

He turned to her. "Have you been there?"

She shook her head. "We came close, once. We stood on a ridge and were able to see some of it, but we weren't strong enough to go in."

"Five? It takes five to explore that area?" he asked.

"Yeah, usually. Why?"

She was beginning to tire of all the questions. What did it matter what the Horde group thought? They were a bunch of snobs anyway.

"There were only four in that party," he observed.

"So?" she asked.

"Something is definitely wrong. Perhaps we should go and investigate."

Sol led his group in a frantic pace. His plan was to ride all the way to Felwood without a single stop. It may take until nightfall to reach the closest encampment, but they would not rest until then. Their betrayal was more serious than any of his team realized. Although he was not able to stop it in time, he also needed to ensure that she would not die. Her death would bring not just the wrath her four companions, but of the three Alliance women. They would be hunted and killed by seven Alliance members out for blood. All that was required for her services was a single diamond ring and a small bit of ore. Fools! Why did they do it?

He urged them onward, his heart beating fast. If that warrior, Cyrus, were an idiot, and he didn't understand the signal he'd circumspectly given, then it would cost them everything. But there was something in that man's green eyes, a keenness, that he'd recognized even from the time at Southshore that assured him. He would know.

Guntag broke Sol's thoughts. "Sir, there is an Alliance party headed our way. It only has three people."

"It is her friends! We should kill them before they can get to her," Lucilin replied.

"Absolutely not, Lucilin, we continue forward until we reach Irontree Clearing!" Sol commanded.

"Tsk," Lucilin murmured. "Now she'll be revived for sure."

A few minutes later, they were in view. The Alliance was rushing toward them, as swiftly as they were running north. The three Alliance members were Wigget, riding hard on her Felsteed, and two Druids in beastform, racing swiftly as cheetahs.

"Ignore them!" he commanded.

"Hrm, they may just get there in time," Guntag murmured between strides.

"There are only three of them," Lucilin urged. "We can kill them for sure."

"Didn't you see that warrior? He was not alone. If we engage them now, the warriors will enclose from behind. We are tired from a day's worth of fighting and digging. We will be overrun and killed," Sol explained.

The groups met. For a second, the two parties formed a tapestry on the road. One heading north, toward Felwood, while the other headed south, desperately seeking their lost companion.

As they passed them by, Wigget broke a cardinal rule: never make eye contact. When traveling abroad and encountering the Horde, it was important not to make eye contact since it could be seen as antagonistic. The trick was to be aware of one's surroundings, without appearing to, so as not to signal hostile intent.

The moment she passed Sol's Charger, her eyes drifted to him, curiously. She wanted to know why Neiana would do something so foolhardy as to go with a group of enemies into dangerous territory. It was then that she recognized him. She had been so busy tending to Cyrus she scarcely paid the Horde party any attention. But if she had, she wouldn't have spent the day with the Engineers.

Although she didn't really care for "big people" in that way, she could understand what a human girl would find appealing. He was richly armored and dressed. Clothed in black and scarlet, it created a sharp contrast to his pale but ruddy skin and wintry surroundings. Everything worn, from the smallest buckle to his bear-trimmed cloak, was of the highest quality. This was undoubtedly due to a judicious use of resources coupled with fearless ambition that led him to explore some of the deepest parts of Azeroth. His bearing was sure, proud, stern and almost cruel. This was not a man that anyone would trifle with. Above all, he had an air of experience and deep understanding that belied the fact that he was much older than he appeared, lending him an aura of mystery.

He gave her a brief, dismissive glance as they passed on by.

_How like an elf_, she thought.

And how like a non-elf, to examine the elf, taking in every detail, only to be dismissed in return. She could have kicked herself. Elves and their blasted charisma, and she had fallen for it. If she was not immune, then how much more affected would a young human woman be not yet acquainted with the ways of the world? She felt deeply for her friend Cyrus, and hoped against hope that they would reach her in time.

Cyrus and Lorenna rode to Frostwhisper Gorge in a frantic pace set by Cyrus, much to Lorenna's disapproval. She didn't even know why they were going and saw no reason to do so. But there they were, following this odd hunch he had because of those blasted Horde.

The first sign of something amiss was when they spotted Chesse some ways before Frostwhisper Gorge. He was grazing on an herb by the road. After Scare Beast wore off, he had discovered he was hungry. Instead of dutifully finding his master, as he was trained, he was having a snack when Cyrus spotted him.

"Chesse!" he called, as he rode to the animal.

The horse looked up immediately. If ever an animal looked guilty, he did at that very moment. Cyrus took him by the bridle and gave him a stern look.

"Where is your master?" he asked.

Chesse looked down.

"Chesse! I'm warning you!" he cried.

By this time, Lorenna was utterly confused. Who would talk to a horse like that? What was he, a Hunter? The horse pointed his nose south.

"Well, at last an answer. You are coming with us!" Cyrus declared.

The horse made no complaints as he was lead forward. When they arrived at Frostwhisper Gorge, there were signs of battle everywhere. The most telling was a patch of hardened web, which looked torn on the top. A trail of litter lead from the web to a pile of rags several yards west. He could see footprints hastily marking chase, following the trail to the rags. That is when his heart sank. Those were no rags!

He rushed to the pile on foot, dropped to his knees, and gingerly moved the cloth. There was a woman hidden within. She was bloody and bruised, her face barely recognizable. But he could tell who she was from the loosened chestnut brown hair that now hung about her like waves. By this time, even the usually dull Lorenna understood what had happened. She was probably lured there with promises of True Silver and whatever other trinkets they could give her, only to be ganked at the end of her usefulness. It was a common tactic used by both sides.

To compensate for her lack of healing skills, Lorenna was an expert in First Aid. Most warriors were, so both were able to see at once that she was alive, although barely clinging to life. She immediately removed bandages from her first aid kit and got to work. The robes were torn open, exposing her white torso, marred with deep slices and wounds. To an experienced fighter, each would told a tale. They spoke of hatred, jealousy, and resentment.

She was losing blood fast, and was weakening by the minute. Luckily, he still had the vial of restoration that Neiana had given him. He uncorked the top and lifted her head carefully. As he poured a drop into her mouth, some of the precious liquid poured down the side of her cheek.

"Her mouth is sealed shut," Lorenna said "You have to pour it down her throat with your own mouth."

He nodded grimly before pouring the rest into his mouth, placing his hand over her nose, and then locking lips with hers. The liquid went straight down her throat and into her stomach. A brief light shone from her wounds and they partially closed, but much to Lorenna's dismay, the light was a sickly green. It indicated poison.

"She's been poisoned!" she cried

"Do you have any anti-venom?" Cyrus asked.

She shook her head. "I ran out of it while hunting the Furbolgs. There are no spiders here that I can use to make new ones. "

He desperately searched the rubble. Surely she packed anti-venom and other potions before the trip. But as he searched, he began to realize just how complete the ganking had been. There was nothing left of value on the snow. Shattered bottles and even torn herbs were the only thing that were left of her work. He could see quite plainly, from the indentations of the snow, that the vials had not broken from the fall. They had been trampled upon.

"Tsk. We have to take her back to Everlook as quickly as possible!" he declared.

Just as he was going to gather her up and place her on her horse, a voice called from the North, authoritatively.

"Do not move her, Cyrus!"

Both Warriors looked up, and watched a cheetah morph into a massive Night Elf in two strides. He did not even stop as he cast several restorative spells. Her body became encased in green light. The wounds closed, leaving no trace on her smooth skin. The sickly, pale coloration became rosy, as the venom was exorcised away. To Cyrus' surprise, the Elf did not stop casting then, but instead cast another healing spell on her. It was then that Neiana took a deep, healthy gasp, as though just emerging from beneath a pool of water, but she did not wake.

"There were some internal bleeding," Denevell explained. "Even if you had taken her to Everlook, she would not have survived the trip."

Cyrus looked down at her solemnly, and to Lorenna, it seemed that the hard lines of his face became even sterner. His eyes were set forward. His jaw was tightly clenched. She'd seen that face before. It was the face of a Warrior holding back tears.

Daela and Wigget arrived, the elf woman standing beside Denevell, her shinning white eyes on the woman with detached concern.

"We should take her with us to Starfall Village. She's been through quite a shock. It will probably take several hours, possibly days, for her to wake up," she observed.

"True," Denevell said. "And we should send word to Skinflint after we arrive."

"Why not take her to Everlook?" Lorenna asked.

"That place is too rough," Daela replied. "The Goblins will not care for her like we will."

Wigget busied herself by picking up whatever belongings were left, knowing that Neiana would ask for them when she woke up. There was little left. As Cyrus had noted, nearly everything of value had been scavenged. No promised True Silver lay upon the snow. No diamonds, or Darklotus, or magical items were spared. Her potions were trampled upon, painting the surrounding snow in blue, red, and violet hues. Mostly food, first aid items, and a few minor pieces of ore were what was left. The only item of any possible worth left was a Malachite Pendant. But by their level of experience, such an item was a simple trinket. It befuddled her that anyone would want to keep it, but judging that it may have some sentimental meaning, she took it as well.

They placed her face down on her horse, covered her in a warm cloak, and lead it to Starfall Village, slowly, so as not to disturb her. Cyrus would have preferred taking her on his horse, holding her as they traveled, but he kept his wishes to himself.

That afternoon had been a productive one for Skinflint and his niece, Geldie. After a day spent collecting Toxic Horror Droplets for Donova, all three were sitting by the campfire, preparing dinner. The three Dwarfs were unwinding, speaking Dwarvish and not caring one wit about the sensibilities of other Races as they drank and shared tales in their native tongue to heart's content. They would stay the night, under the same tent, and then work once again on the springs the next morning.

It was then, as they happily conversed, that Skinflint caught an odd sight. It was a group of Horde, four in number, rushing head long into Felwood.

"Now will ya look at tha!" he exclaimed.

"What kinda fool goes inta Felwood at night?" Geldie asked.

"A desperate kind," Skinflint said darkly.

Something didn't sit well with him. Especially when he noticed one of the party members rear her Hawkstrider back, refusing to go any further. There was an argument, with the Blood Knight (he refused to acknowledge them as Paladins as they acquired their power through ill-gotten gains), pointing into Felwood and the female elf and Orc disagreeing. They were arguing quite loudly in that fell language, Orcish, so some of the words traveled over the snow and to the camp. How he hated that sound more than anything. Even if he couldn't understand the words, he could feel their concern.

"What do you mean we have to go into Felwood?" Lucilin demanded.

"Felwood is haunted by evil that cannot be killed," Guntag said. "I am no coward, but some things in there still walk my dreams."

"Then you should have thought of that before you acted on your own and ganked her," Sol declared.

There was a heavy silence before he continued.

"A cheap ring and a few plants! That's all she wanted. That's all we needed to give her and we could have had everything, and spent the last night in Everlook, leaving in the morning at our leisure instead of running away like common bandits."

It was then that Bill said his peace.

"But consider, sir, if she would have betrayed us after we returned. She knew what was acquired, and how much it was worth. As you say, we are outnumbered. It is much easier to kill us and steal the gems and ore, than to go against giants and demons, and dig, as we had to."

Sol gave him a sly look. "If I had any notion that she would have done such a thing, I would not have recruited her in the first place. She was completely within my powers."

The corners of his lips creased slightly, giving away a tiny, satisfied smile. It was clear he relished the power he could wield. "She would have dove into the Searing Gorge if I had asked. As it is, you are lucky that I did not kill her."

"What? What do you mean you didn't kill her?" Lucilin asked, shocked.

"You allowed me the final judgment, and I gave it. I let her live. And the fact that I left her alive is precisely the reason why we haven't been hunted down! They were too busy trying to heal her to come after us."

"Indeed Sir," Bill interrupted. "I noticed that you did not. As a Priest, unfortunate as that may be, I saw that her wounds were so extensive, that physical healing would not fully restore her. She would be transported to Everlook, or perhaps Starfall Village, for a full recovery. And it would have to be a slow trip, she would be transported with utmost care."

Lucilin glanced between Bill and Sol, annoyed that she had been left out of the loop.

"But then, shouldn't we be able to stay here? Pitch our tent near the entrance and then leave first thing in the morning?" she asked.

"Hrm, I sense two of their party members north of here. We have been spotted," Guntag said. "If we stay, we might be ambushed in our sleep."

Bill then laughed, surprising everyone but Sol.

"Why do you fear? Felwood may be crawling with cursed beasts and fell creatures, but I am Undead. I fear them not. I will lead you gladly!"

"And if we stick to the road, we shouldn't even encounter them. Ironwood Clearing is not far. What are a few Oozes to the demons of Darkwhisper Gorge?" Sol asked, calmly.

Lucilin and Guntag glanced at each other apprehensively before finally coming to the same conclusion. They simply nodded with acquiescence. Nothing else needed to be said. Sol turned his horse westward and on they rode to Timbermaw Hold.

As Skinflint watched the group continue on West, he became filled with foreboding. Why would a group be so desperate as to enter those woods at night? They were running away. Clearly, something wasn't right. The only thing they had to fear was them, the Alliance. And why else would they run from the Alliance, unless they had attacked a member of their party? What if someone was dead?

Skinflint's dark thoughts cast a shadow on the warm firelight, and the three Dwarves became hushed, although he didn't voice his troubles. It didn't surprise him when thirty minutes later, Denevell arrived with the news. He became so enraged, he demanded to know why Denevell came alone. He would have charged into Felwood himself, cursed beasts or not.

But the Night Elf shook his head.

"There is no reason to head after them into that darkness. Neiana is alive, and that is all that matters. Let us not augment the evil done with further violence."

"Ye and yer damn 'vlish ways!" was the only argument Skinflint could muster before angrily going into the tent. "They'll be tha death o' me fer sure!"


	9. Chapter 9 Resolution and Regret

**Ganked V 2.0 **

**AN:** I hope I don't lose any readers with this chapter. It's a transition chapter between the ganking at Winterspring and the action that will occur in the next couple of chapters. It has a lot of dialogue, delving into a character's back story and motivation, as well as clarifying a certain relationship.** OP**

**Chapter 9 Regret and Resolution **

Neiana woke the next morning in a spacious, wood planked room, aglow with emerald tinged light. The room was sparsely furnished, with only a lamp, a small table, a stool, and her bed, which all seemed to be organically attached to the wooden walls and floor. Despite its Spartan decor, it was quite soothing. She shifted and murmured, alerting the person in the room that she was awake.

"Nina! Yer up! I shoulda let ya sleep longer!" Skinflint declared.

She groaned softly before sitting up with some difficulty. Besides a splitting headache, her muscles ached. It was as though she'd finished running a marathon.

"Where am I?" she asked softly.

"Ye were taken ta Starfall Village wi' them 'lves. A proper dwarf doctor woulda been better, but one can't be picky 'bout it now."

The outburst produced a chuckle from Neiana, but it was barely audible. After a few moments of silence, she sighed.

"I am so sorry, Skinflint. I should have listened to you. I was a fool."

"There, there lass! I am not 'ere ta scold ya! There is nothin' I can say that ye haven't said ta yerself, I'm sure."

The door burst open and there was Cyrus, in plain clothes, looking like he hadn't gotten much sleep.

"I heard voices! Is she awake?"

He turned to the bed and saw that she was sitting up. His eyes hardened, glistening with anger. She looked up for a brief moment, but refused to make eye contact. Instead she glanced to the side, embarrassed. Skinflint caught the tension between them and decided it was best to leave them alone.

"Eh, per'aps I should be goin'. I need to tell tha rest that yer up. They were all worried ya know."

She nodded slowly.

"Thank you for everything, Skinflint."

"'Tisn't me ya 'ave ta thank. If Cyrus 'ere 'adn't found ya when 'e did, there is no tellin' if ye'd be 'ere or not!"

As the old dwarf passed Cyrus, he gave him a hearty, appreciative pat on the shoulder. Cyrus replied with a slight nod before closing the door behind him. He shut the door with no small amount of force. Neiana winced, but the expected scolding never arrived. Instead, he stood by the door, his arms crossed, leaning against the wall for what seemed like a long time. The reality was that it was less than a minute, but Cyrus needed the time to compose himself. There was so much he was feeling at the moment: happiness, anger, hatred (for a certain Blood Elf), and frustration that he needed the time to settle himself.

It was then that he broke the silence.

"If you ever make me worry like that again, I will never forgive you."

His voice was calm and even. It was not at all like the temperamental flares that he was sometimes known for. For some reason that made it worse.

"You don't have to worry about that. That foolish girl is gone for good, I guarantee it. If I ever see him again, he will die!" she snapped.

Cyrus smirked at her reply. She didn't see his face, for she was still looking down at her beautiful, soft, blanket. If she had, she would have seen that his eyes communicated disbelief. The door opened again, and the diminutive gnome entered. She was hauling a bag with her, although it was barely half full.

"Neiana! What were you thinking making your brother worry so much?" she said as she burst through the door.

"I wasn't," she replied ruefully.

"Well, I managed to save a few things that I found on the snow. I hope I got everything!"

Neiana thanked her and took the bag. As she rummaged through her things, she became deflated. All her potions were broken, a few of the herbs that were left were now rendered unusable, torn and trampled flat. Only a few pieces of lead were left of the ore they collected and she didn't find any of the items that had been scavenged from the fallen demons. The only thing that was left of any value was the simple green pendant. She gingerly removed it, clasped it close and turned her face. Wigget noticed that she was shaking.

"Neiana, are you OK? Is there anything you need me to fix? I am great at fixing things, you know," she asked innocently.

"No, I don't see anything that can be salvaged here, but thanks," she said with a chuckle.

"We should go, Wigget," Cyrus said, who saw she was crying.

He motioned to her go. With a last regretful look to the woman, Wigget followed Cyrus out the door.

"Cyrus, wait!" Neiana called just as he was about to leave.

The man turned around.

"I'll join you in a bit, Wigget. Tell Lorenna I'll be late."

"Sure thing," Wigget said.

He closed the door, approached and sat on the bench beside the bed.

"What is it?"

Neiana sighed and offered him the pendant, still not looking at him.

"Here, take this now. I don't want it anymore."

At first he was so shocked, he didn't reply. He merely leaned back and looked perplexed.

"Just take it!" she demanded again, this time more forcefully. "He doesn't exist! And even if he did, he wouldn't remember me. Why would he remember some little, dirty girl from Elwynn Forest? So just take it!"

Cyrus sighed and scratched the scruff that was growing on his face. He'd recently tried to grow out a beard. Lorenna had teased him, calling him a pretty elf, and he hadn't liked it.

"I don't think I can do that, sis."

"Oh? And why not? Don't you think that it's caused me enough problems, wishing, thinking that somewhere..."

She stopped, unable to find the words to continued as she felt them smothered by a sob.

"I won't take it because you're not really letting go. You're just passing your burden on to me," he said simply.

"What?"

"It's quite simple. The day you let him go, is the day you will simply throw it away without giving it a second thought, not pass it on to someone else," he explained.

She was taken back by his explanation and she withdrew her hand. She looked at the Malachite Pendant with skepticism.

"Just promise you won't get yourself almost killed like that again," he continued. "Or I'll..."

"Never forgive me," she interrupted with a smile. "I got it. So...are you and Lorenna an item?"

He shrugged with a smile, amused at her obvious deflection.

"Nah, she just hasn't seen a real man in months and I just happened to come on by. Besides it's been a while..."

One of her eyebrows rose. His eyes twinkled with mischief as he continued.

"I think you're too young for this kind of talk. Maybe you should ask Skinflint."

"Why you..."

She gave him a playful slap on the arm, which he took with a laugh before rising.

"At any rate, just get some rest. You should be fine by tomorrow," he said.

Then he startled her by ruffling up her hair.

"Just get some rest and promise you won't do this again."

After he left, Neiana was left alone, with her thoughts and a pendant. She tossed it back in the bag and let the bag slip to the floor. She laid back on the bed, frustrated that they were making her stay and rest. Still, her heart ached. Even though she knew -she just knew- they would betray her, she'd hoped that he would not. He'd been so kind to her. That warmth she felt before from him, had it been all an act? It must have been.

Tiredness washed over her once again. She closed her eyes. The last thing she saw was a Sol's cold green stare as he laid judgment on her.

Sol and his group arrived at Irontree Clearing without much problem. Once there, they were lucky enough to run into a Forsaken Mage, who was more than happy to open a portal to Undercity for a nominal fee.

Once they found themselves safely in Horde Territory, they were about to seek out an inn, but Bill insisted they stay at his place. He had a small apartment beside the canal, of course the animals needed to be housed at the inn. Although he hadn't been in there for over a year, he was sure it was all in one piece. The apartment was located in an alley overlooking the Apothecarium. The arched doorway encased an iron door, decorated with spikes and chains.

The interior was no less ominous. It was dark and damp, with overhanging cobwebs and plenty of spiders. It consisted of two rooms, a common room with a furnace, several chairs, and a small bed that had seen better days. The second room was a small kitchen that saw little use. Both rooms were heavily covered with dust. There were no facilities because, as Bill explained, the Forsaken did not need them. On the walls hung small, faded tapestries, depicting scenes from famous romantic tales featuring knights and dragons. The empty spaces between the tapestries were covered with shelves. Each shelve housed books on various subjects, mostly relating to the art of war, fencing, and the budding skill of glyph writing.

After they laid their bags on the floor, Sol collapsed on to a chair and allowed himself to relax.

"It would be a great honor for me to treat my guests to a dinner," Bill said with an unnecessary bow.

"Not at all, we are much too tired. We shall merely unroll our beds and go to sleep," Sol replied indulgently.

Lucilin rolled her eyes. She didn't know why he patronized Bill's childish chivalrous fancies. Lucilin thought they were silly, and she knew that Sol didn't believe in them one bit.

"Besides, the last thing we need is Forsaken cuisine. We can't all live off grub-worms and giant fingers, you know," she said.

Bill became very offended.

"Well, I say! We Forsaken are perfectly capable of cooking. Why, one of the Horde's most renowned chefs, Eunice Burch, lives right here in the Undercity."

"Well, then, can you explain why you can't cook worth a damn!?" Lucilin demanded.

The Undead man merely pointed to his slack jaw.

"No tongue."

The next morning Guntag announced that he would be heading for Ogrimmar. There he would prepare for their expedition to Outland and spend time with his family. It was agreed that he would return in three months, and from there, they would travel to Outland. After he left, Sol gathered up the jewels he collected and began to examine them. Two velvet towels were laid on Bill's table. One carried the jewels he collected at Winterspring, while the other was placed before him and used for examination. He wore green goggles, which were affixed with various magnifying lenses that he could lower or raise as needed. Before him was a candle, for even though it was morning, one would not know it in the underground apartment. Each piece was lifted and examined carefully with a pair of tweezers. After the inspection, each would be placed in one of two small velvet bags. The lesser jewels he placed in a blue bag. Those he would sell, uncut, and still make a tidy profit. The best, however, he kept for himself for further use. Those were placed in a vivid red velvet bag inlaid with golden thread. The process was tedious and time-consuming. Lucilin had no idea how he had the patience for it.

Bill sat on a chair adjacent to the bed, his back to the wall. He was writing down the previous day's events with much embellishment. He would occasional pause his narrative, tapping his chin with the quill of his pen, thinking of a proper word that would match the scene, before continuing.

This left Lucilin pacing about the floor, bored out of her mind. She'd given her leather work to the Auctioneer for sale, and now all that she had left to do was wait. After a few minutes of her pacing, Sol could not take it anymore.

"Don't you have something better to do than pace around the floor?" he asked tersely.

"No, I don't..." she paused and crossed her arms, staring at him.

He knew her well enough to understand what this meant. She wanted something from him. Specifically, she had something on her mind and was waiting for the right opportunity to reveal it.

"Why you don't just ask," he demanded.

"I am thinking of staying in Quel'Thalas until we are ready to go. Why don't you join me? My sister has a place in Eversong Woods and she's a jeweler. She's got plenty of space where you can work and it's bright! It isn't like this dark, damp, hole where you have to work by candle even during the day!"

She glanced at Bill, who was busy writing.

"No offense," she said offhandedly.

"None taken," he replied, not bothering to pretend he couldn't hear.

Sol sighed as he carefully placed down the tweezers, removed the goggles, and stood to face her. His face was completely void of feeling. This was not a good sign. It usually meant that he had something serious to discuss.

"You should go on your own. I will go to Silvermoon City at some point, but I will not join you."

"I don't understand. Why don't you come with me?" she asked, feeling dejected.

Sol sighed before replying.

"When I first met you, you were nothing but a young pick-pocket barely over the age of maturity. The war took your family, and your home, and you were forced to live on your own and learn how to survive..."

"Yes, I know that. What does that have to do with anything?" she demanded with impatience.

"It has everything to do with why I took you in. Do you know why?"

Lucilin shook her head.

"For the same reason I refuse to kill children, Lucilin. Every day I think of the daughter I lost to the Scourge as they tore their way through Quel'Thalas and annihilated everything and everyone in their path."

"But I thought she was a half-elf. Why was she there?" Lucilin interjected without thinking.

She bit her lip, embarrassed. That sort of thing carried a great deal of shame. Some elves tried to hide any half-breed children, blaming youthful indiscretions. He merely smiled.

"And so she was. Ildri, my daughter, lived in Lordaeron, with her half-elf husband and two children, twin boys Aton and Avis. When the Scourge attacked, they did not flee like most, but went north. They heeded our cry for help despite being hated for their nature, which is more than can be said about the so-called High Elves, who fled like sniveling cowards!"

Sol clenched his fist with rage but held his peace. He didn't relish the idea of wasting two hours searching for scattered jewels, but at the moment he would have liked nothing better than to have smashed the chair, table, and every derelict wooden item in that room into smithereens.

Lucilin didn't know how to react. He had never been so candid with her, not even when he told her he'd been pairbonded. The only thing he said was a curt, "I've pairbonded. Go to sleep." But this speech sounded suspiciously like a refusal. He was completely rejecting her at last, and it hurt.

"I don't know what to say, Sol," she replied hastily, trying salvage her chances. "I have lost much too. Everyone but my sister died, and that was only because she was traveling abroad at the time. I didn't even know she'd survived until a year ago..."

Sol raised his hand, silencing her.

"I am telling you this Lucilin, so that you will know once and for all what my feelings for you are. I am not a young elf. You can see this, even if humans cannot. It is not fair for you to spend your youth waiting for me to see you as something other than my lost Ildri. You even have her temper, by the Sunwell, her temper...I don't even know where Ildri got that from. Her mother, Adelle, was quite gentle and sweet natured."

Lucilin giggled at his personal blind-spot, although her eyes were brimming with tears.

"And spoiled rotten, like a barrel full of rotten apples. It was my fault, she had me by the nose," he continued with a wry smile. "I was rather relived when I married her off. Let another man deal with her, I thought. I wondered if it would last. But Balin managed it, somehow."

By this time Lucilin could not hold back her tears and they fell freely down her face.

"I should go then," she said hastily as she began to gather her things. "I have a lot of planning to do. We must prepare for Outland and…it's supposed to be very dangerous. Even Guntag said he wouldn't take me if I were to..."

Sol approached her, clutched her shoulders, and gave her a hug. He patted her head gently, reassuringly.

"I am a right bastard, I know. Can you forgive this old fool?"

Bill tried to become very small at that moment. He knew that he'd been forgotten, and wanted it to remain that way. For once, he was not caught up in the drama. He'd been around them long enough so that feelings of comradeship were beginning to chip away at his cold, silent heart. He may not have felt very sad, but he didn't like watching Lucilin cry. It was all too grave a scene. The episode never made it in his book.

Sol helped Lucilin as far as the portal to Silvermoon. There, before she left, he told her,

"If you can accept my feelings, as they are, then return. But if you cannot, I will not blame you."

She did not reply as she gathered her things and placed her hand on the orb. Exiting the dark gloom of the Undercity, into the bright, welcoming spires of Silvermoon.

When Sol returned to the room, there was a heaviness that hung in that dark space that would not disperse. As much as he tried, Sol could not concentrate on his work, so he put his jewels away carefully and began to pack up his things.

"What will you do now?" Bill asked.

"I will spend a few days here, with your permission, and then travel to Silvermoon. Work should be easier there. We will meet here in three months, and go to Outland together," Sol replied.

"Do you think she will come?"

Sol paused a moment before replying.

"I really don't know. It's for the best, really. I am no good for women. The truth was that Adelle kicked me out. We lived in a cottage, away from the city of Lordaeron. It was all well and good at first, and little Ildri kept me company. But after a while, it all became too quiet...too domestic. So, I would leave, traveling for years on end. She tired of it," he smiled softly before continuing. "And she couldn't bear to see her aging face reflected in my youthful eyes. I don't know what happened to her, to be honest. She may have died with the Scourge, or fled Lordaeron. Either way, she made it clear that she didn't want me around."

"I see," Bill said. "And if I may ask sir, just how old are you?"

"I am 160. I suppose if I were human, I would be in my mid-thirties. Not young, but not quite middle-aged."

"Sir, you don't look a day over twenty-five," Bill observed. "Or act it, if I may be so bold."

"Oh, I don't know. I think I can be mature at times," Sol said with an unabashed grin.

Guntag returned three months later with GlubGlug, ready for the expedition into Outland. This time he came with a fierce Swift Timber Wolf. As he explained to Sol, he was in no mood to run the length and breadth of Outland on his feet. He also brought with him a fifth person, a giant Tauren Shaman named Huron Whisperwind. He was extremely dark. Both his glistening fur and long luxurious, braided mane, where pitch black. Large, crimson, gold inlaid ribbon were wound around his impressive horns. Guntag explained that he would be the fifth person so they would never have to recruit another member for dangerous missions again. Sol happily accepted him, although he figured that the real motive had to do with Guntag being tired of hanging around two "snooty elves" and a very strange Forsaken. He brought him along for the company.

To Bill's surprise, Lucilin also returned, although just in time. Her Bloodfang Armor was buffed and sparking.

"Well," she demanded in her usual impetuous way. "Aren't we about to go now,_ dad?_"

"Impatient as always, are you, child?" Sol observed wryly.

Guntag gave Sol a quizzical glance.

"War makes sudden orphans and reluctant parents," was the amused reply.

"Hrm, well, we should go. Let's not spend more time in this gloom than we must," Guntag said.

South of Undercity, in a much brighter capital city, there was another group that was about ready to make their expedition to Outland. After Neiana's ganking, Skinflint thought it best to leave Winterspring as quickly as possible. They took a vote and it was decided that they would travel to Outland.

Like the Horde party, they spent the time planning living apart. Daela and Denevell stayed at the Park in Stormwind. Skinflint and his niece had found living spaces in the Dwarven District. Wigget visited family in Ironforge. Cyrus perceived that Lorenna would tire of the more provincial Eastvale, so he rented out a room at Stormwind's downtown Inn. Every Friday, they met together at the Blue Recluse to plan the expedition.

This left Neiana on her own. At first, she thought about her old home but decided it was not her time yet. Instead, she traveled west and lodged in Darkshire. There were things she needed to investigate but she didn't want others to know. So she didn't participate in the travel plans, content to let Skinflint and the others worry about the details.

It took them about three months to prepare. During that time, it occurred to them that the group was entirely too large. Since the three women they ran into at Winterspring had joined them, they ran into logistical challenges. Food was the primary concern. Carrying food for four or five parity members was hard enough, but feeding eight people with their mounts, plus two pack mules and several pets was too much to handle. Besides finding lodgings and other accommodations was almost impossible for all of them at once. So it was decided, after some haggling and argument, that Cyrus and Wigget would join Lorenna and Daela, while Geldie would take her place with Denevell, Skinflint and Neiana.

So it was that on the day the first group was going to leave, only four were dressed in armor and ready for the expedition. Neiana returned from Darkshire to see them off.

"I 'ope yer 'appy," Geldie whispered to Lorenna to the side. "Yer not tha only one who 'as a sweet 'eart."

She motioned to Daela, who seemed rather forlorn as she prepared her Mistsaber Mount. She would occasionally give Denevell small sad glances when she thought no one was looking.

"Elves practically live forever. We don't. I'm allowed to be selfish," Lorenna replied with a sniff. "Besides, you're not the one stuck with Cyrus' pet gnome!"

"You girls ready?" Cyrus called from atop his mount.

They would be the ones to leave first, with a two week head start, to give the other team party enough traveling space, and so prevent the very problems they were trying to avoid. Their plan was to travel the length of Outland for six months taking separate routs, and then meet at Shattrath. From there, it was anyone's guess.

"Yeah, we're going," Lorenna replied, as she mounted her horse. "That is if Daela ever finishes up harnessing her cat."

"I got it," Daela said curtly.

They waved goodbye to the four left behind one last time, and then headed to the portal.

"You better keep the ladies in line, brother!" Neiana, teased after him.

He turned to her and gave her a cheeky grin and a wave, before turning back around. At that moment, as she watched him head to the pass, she noticed just how broad his shoulders were. He was quite handsome, his curly auburn hair now hung loose, touching his shoulders. The beard experiment had failed, and he was once again clean shaven, but his jaw line was set and strong. He didn't need it. Whatever problems that he'd had in Theramore with self-confidence and women, seemed to have evaporated. Wigget confided with her that Lorenna kept sharp tabs on him, on account of the attention he was receiving from other girls. It briefly occurred to her that they weren't related and she flushed pink.

"Oh, I'll take good care of your_ big brother_. Don't you worry," Lorenna called back, taunting her with their familiarity.

"Oh boy! I can't wait. I wonder what kind of schematics I'll be able to find. Cyrus, I have to tell you all about my trip to Ironforge. It was incredible! I met with all the family..." Wigget began, forgetting that they were supposed to be dead.

Neiana did not get to hear the rest of it. She watched the group enter the portal to the Blasted Lands and disappear.


	10. Chapter 10 Fire in Nagrand

**Ganked V 2.0**

**Chapter 10 Fire in Nagrand**

The first couple of months exploring Outland were not what Cyrus would call eventful. The first stop, Hellfire Peninsula, was a complete disappointment. He hated every minute of the red-earthed desert with its bizarre creatures, bone encrusted earth, and mad Orcs. Sure there was much to do in Hellfire Ramparts, and he came out quite well equipped for all his troubles, but he was happy when he left it.

Once it was over, his party headed southwest, towards the more fertile Terokkar Forest. He felt at home in the beautiful, crystalline forests and rolling meadows. Yes, it had a desert, but it wasn't quite as severe an eyesore as Hellfire. Despite the excitement of Shattrath, they decided to lodge at Allerian Stronghold. There were plenty of jobs there more suited for a group like his, folks who were more interested in mercenary work than in old stories, elves, and wars.

It was during that time, when Cyrus was away from the influence Denevell that he began to notice a stark difference between Denevell and some of the younger Night Elves staying at Allerian Stronghold. Denevell was wise and calm, while those elves were brash and loud. Denevell practiced moderation in everything, while those elves drunk and reveled.

He was so shocked during one night of revelry, as he watched some elven women dance nearly naked by the firelight, that he actually excused himself and took refuge on the rampart wall. This was not the sort of thing he had been accustomed to during his more modest upbringing in Elwynn Forest. Even his relationship with Lorenna was undertaken with great discretion. They never publicly displayed affection.

Daela noticed that he receded and followed. When she joined him at the rampart, she explained that after their world opened up and they lost their immortality, many of the younger Night Elves became lost and disillusioned. They escaped the cloistered life of Ashenvale, rebelled and explored. Once they grew out of it, and it was hoped that they would, they would learn wisdom and remember their traditions.

"Most of these elves are only around three hundred years old," she explained.

"And you?" he asked.

"I am 245 years old."

"And that is young?" he asked curiously.

"Yes, quite young. We reach maturity at 200."

"Then why aren't you over there?" he asked, pointing down to the revelers. "Dancing and drinking along with them?"

She flushed slightly, giving her pallid gray skin a rosy tint.

"I would have, but I have grown. Brother Denevell's taught me so much about being a true Elf, our history, and how it was in the Elder Days. I simply can't turn my back on them as they have."

"Ah," Cyrus said, giving her a knowing glance.

It was the only thing that needed to be said. He understood everything at once. After a pause, he gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder, which was several inches above his head.

"You'll see him soon. We only have four months left before we all meet over in Shattrath."

She nodded and smiled.

"You're lucky that you got to stay with Lorenna."

As he watched the revelers down below, he caught a blonde woman talking to an elf rogue. His hair was very dark blue, almost midnight. The armor he sported was of the highest quality. He was beardless, usually the sign of a young elf, and quite drunk. He bent forward and whispered something in the woman's ear. The woman looked around her, scanning the surroundings, before following the elf to the Inn.

Cyrus smirked knowingly. He'd known it would only be a matter of time.

"Hm, I guess you could say that," he said nonchalantly.

_Should I go now? Or should I wait a couple of days? I should probably pack first, _he thought to himself.

Cyrus planned his escape for the next week, while feigning ignorance of her betrayal. It was quite amusing to see how she would sneak away on the pretext of some chore or menial task that she was never quite so enthused about doing before. After a while, she even began to skip out on work. Stymying the Arakkoa? She needed to mend her gloves. Get some Timber Worg Tails? She had to buff her boots.

So it was that Cyrus sent Geldie a letter one day, explaining the situation. Their arrangement was not working out. It didn't matter what Lorenna did, but he wasn't about to stick around while she did it. He would be leaving with Wigget the next day and she needed to take their place. He packed his bags, not even bothering to hide it from Lorenna. She wouldn't notice, so there was no need to explain. Then, on the day he was scheduled to leave, he pointedly informed her that he was going fishing. He took his fishing pole and rode to a nearby stream, but didn't dismount. After a ten minute stroll, he returned to the city, unmounted his horse, entered the inn, walked up the stairs, calmly approached their room and opened the door.

What he saw was exactly what he expected to see, with the added bonus of contraband in the form of a pile of Bloodthistle.

At first the three people didn't say anything. Lorenna covered herself as modestly as she could, even though there wasn't anything anyone hadn't seen. The Night Elf sat back, his eyes in a half-dazed glazed in a state he'd come to recognize as thistlehigh. The room smelled of the pungent weed. Messing with magic? He was being rebellious indeed. Not that it mattered to him. Cyrus merely walked in and calmly gathered his packed bags.

"Cyrus! This isn't how it looks!" Lorenna said, as she walked up to him, slipping on a robe.

"This isn't how it looks either. I'm not taking my bags and leaving for Nagrand, it only looks that way," he retorted with amusement.

She glared at him, incensed at his blaze attitude.

"Well, good luck to you," he said turning to the elf.

The elf gave him a playful salute as Cyrus walked away. By this time, Lorenna had had enough. Sure she was the one who cheated, but the fact that he wasn't affected crushed her pride. What was she to him? No man had left her before. She was always ended a relationships on her terms.

"Why..." she stammered. "I never liked you!"

Cyrus didn't pay any attention. He walked down the hall, ignoring her. All the while, Lorenna followed behind him, throwing cut downs and biting insults, trying to get a rise out of him. It failed. The other patrons could hear the commotion. Some of them cracked open their room's doors and took a peek at the unfolding drama.

"Cyrus!" She called as he started walking down the stairs. "You never satisfied me!"

She smirked with satisfaction as she watched him finally stop. He paused and turned to her with a crooked smile. It was completely void of hurt or malice, and that is what stung her the most. He simply did not care.

"Now I know that's a lie," he teased and then calmly sauntered down the stairs.

One of the onlookers, a pink-haired gnome male, laughed heartily before being stopped cold by her glare. Cyrus did not take one last look as he walked out of the inn and into the town. Wigget was waiting for him at the stables. She was packed and ready to go. By this time, Daela had figured out what had happened, and she was not happy. She was there too, to see them off.

"Well, it's about time," Wigget said. "That took long enough."

"Well, I'm here now, aren't I?" Cyrus said with satisfaction.

"I can't wait to get out of this dark, gloomy forest and to some greener pastures," Wigget exclaimed.

"I am sorry about what happened," Daela said. "I...wish that she hadn't done that. She will come to regret it, you know."

"Maybe, but I doubt it," Cyrus said with a shrug. "Listen, don't worry, we'll still see each other in four months."

"Are you sure?" She asked skeptically.

"We'll all miss you if you don't show up, so you have to come!" Wigget exclaimed.

"At any rate, what will happen to us now? Two is too few..." Daela wondered.

"I sent Geldie a note and told her what happened. She'll arrive in a couple of days. Just don't let Lorenna make you do all the work," Cyrus replied.

She smiled, reassured.

"Got it. Good bye!"

After one last wave, they began their journey north.

The trip would take about three days, so they weren't too concerned about speed. They sang and talked happily about their adventures so far. It seemed a lifetime ago that he'd been stuck in Theramore, lovelorn. He couldn't help but find a little satisfaction in being the one to walk away.

It wasn't long before Cyrus' sharp ears caught a conversation to his right. It sounded like elvish, and both voices were definitely masculine. It was so close to Allerian that it could be two High Elves conversing, but he hadn't seen elves wander even that far. They tended to stay close to town on account of their small numbers. He hushed Wigget and stopped his horse. He couldn't make out what was being said, but it seemed too harsh to be a simple friendly conversation. Something didn't feel right.

With silence learned from years of experience, he quickly dismounted from his horse and commanded Wigget to do the same. She followed him quietly, although she could not hear anything. With motions, she asked if she should summon her Void Walker LubLub. He shook his head, and pointed to his ear.

_No, it would make too much noise. _

She shrugged her shoulders.

_That's true. _

As they crept forward, Wigget finally began to hear what Cyrus had picked up at the road. Their tone was tense and clipped. They were involved in a heated discussion. It was not until they reached a small clearing, that Cyrus was able to see what was going on. One of the High Elves of Allerian Stronghold, a tall auburn haired man dressed in a sky-blue shirt and deep blue trousers, was arguing with someone who appeared to be...

"...A Blood Elf!" Wigget whispered, alarmed.

The elf was a Blood Knight, but they could not see his face clearly. It was half-covered by a crimson and black helm and he stood in the shadow of a large olemba tree. Cyrus desperately motioned her to be quiet. Elves had extremely sharp hearing. Lucky for them, they were too engrossed in their conversation to notice.

"Listen Sol, I don't care if we are family, I am not going to get caught in this mess," the High Elf began.

"All I want is for you is to make some inquiries. I would have done it myself if it weren't illegal," Sol argued.

"Since when did that stop you? That stack of Bloodthistle you just sold me isn't exactly sanctioned," Aeman observed. He was not amused.

"That would land me a fine. This would land me in a prison."

"Hrm," Aeman murmured to himself. "Well, I suppose I could do it, for the right price. I need enough to pay off any unwanted attention, after all. How about 50 gold?"

"Fifty? That's outright theft! I will give you twenty-five!" Sol demanded.

"Forty-Five," Aeman countered.

"Thirty," Sol retorted.

"Forty gold, ten silver and three copper," Aeman said authoritatively. "And that's my final offer."

Sol paused a few moments to consider the proposal. He sighed and nodded his head at last. They shook hands and Sol handed the High Elf the coin.

"It was nice doing business with you, as always, cousin," Sol remarked sarcastically.

"You got plenty for the Bloodthistle, so I won't hear complaints from you. Now give me the information."

Sol handed Aeman a small white envelope, which Aeman took and placed in his breast pocket.

Now, Cyrus and Wigget did not quite know what was going on. But it didn't take someone with a high degree of intelligence to guess that Aeman, an elf who was already known for distributing spirits, had just bought contraband from a Blood Elf, of all people. At any rate, Cyrus had seen enough.

"Aeman Brightsong! What is the meaning of this treachery?" He demanded, charging with his sword drawn.

"Whatever do you mean?" Aeman asked, smoothly.

Cyrus noted with distaste that elves where always so smooth, no matter what happened to them, they always spoke with that velvety voice.

"Don't play stupid. What did you get from that Blood Elf? What treachery is this?" Cyrus demanded.

"Yeah!" Wigget yelled, playing along. "Are you going to blow up Allerian? Are you going to make a mega-destruction device? Spit it out?"

Aeman didn't break a sweat.

"Would you like some Bloodthistle? I have just acquired some, it isn't dry yet, so I'll be willing to discount it thirty percent: two gold per leaf. It makes good chew wet."

"You make a tidy profit out of that," Sol remarked in Thalassian. "Well, I'm going now. I'll leave you to deal with the locals."

"Tell me about it, you have a good day," Aeman replied with a sigh.

Sol gave him a wave and began to walk away, but Cyrus was not deterred.

"Hey! Where is he going? Get back here! This must be reported at once!"

Aeman laughed at his naivety.

"Go on, report away. I will simply tell them the truth, this is a family matter of which you humans have no business interfering."

Cyrus was quite shocked. He'd always thought that High Elves were so noble, and yet here was one smuggling forbidden leaf, buying it from a sworn enemy, and all without any trace of shame.

"Family...but I thought you hated each other..." he began, feeling rather foolish.

"We do, but we were once of one Race, or have you forgotten? Typical human, all bulk and no brain. So, do you want the Bloodthistle or not? It's good for travel." Aeman asked.

"Huh?" He asked, confused.

"I can see your horses from here. Usually we are good at keeping an eye on the road. Can't let intrepid detectives bumbling about," Aeman replied with a jeer.

Cyrus flushed red, embarrassed, acutely aware of the mockery.

"Come on Cyrus," little Wigget said. "We just started the trip and Nagrand is a long way from here. Neiana is waiting, and Skinflint and Denevell too. They will be happy to see us. I bet Draenei cuisine at Telaar is delicious. I wonder what their Inns look like."

She took the dejected man by the hand and lead him to the horse, while Aeman walked off, shaking his head. Unseen by the three, Sol had not left the area. Shortly after saying goodbye to Aeman, he'd slid behind a large olemba tree and listened in to their conversation. He'd recognized Cyrus and Wigget at once, although he made no show of it to keep himself from being discovered.

It was amusing to him how they always ended up running into each other. He was intensely curious about where they were going and if a certain human girl was with them. Wigget's exposition gave him all the information he needed. They were travelling by horse, which meant that they were changing venues permanently and it would take days. Flight travel was only used for quick trips, since they couldn't hold nearly as much as horse, among other logistical problems. Lucky for him, all he had to do was ride his Red Wind Rider and he'd be in Nagrand in less than an hour. If he knew Neiana at all, then she would be out, picking herbs some distance away from Telaar, but not too far, so she could easily flee if she sensed any danger.

He became anxious to see her, if only to see if the ganking she'd received had left any scars. Back at Stonebreaker Hold, he stabled his Charger and mounted his Wind Rider. Off he flew to Nagrand without bothering to tell his waiting party that he'd returned or that where he was going.

When he arrived at Nagrand, it was well past noon. While flying, he'd spotted her just where he knew she would be, but he judged it would be easier to travel from Garadar using a terrestrial mount. He didn't want to attract any attention and a flying mount would be seen landing near Telaar from every window in the town. After landing at Garadar, he rented a Dire Wolf mount, and rode carefully towards Telaar.

Neiana's impression of Outland had been a little different from Cyrus'. Sure Hellfire Peninsula was a little parched, but the history behind it was fascinating. As a magic user, she could practically feel the magical energies infused in the earth, holding the frail continent in the Nether within its gossamer web. She knew that the slightest imbalance would send the world, and its denizens, crumbling away into the void. The sky was vast and beautiful, with nebulae and other celestial bodies gleaming through the violet atmosphere.

As for the Draenei, she was intrigued by them. These were people of magic, old beyond years, who had suffered a great deal. She thought them beautiful, especially the women, who in her opinion rivaled any elf in poise and grace. And to her surprise, they were a rather fun-loving, playful bunch despite their longevity and history.

They were sympathetic creatures, and she felt strong ties of kingship with them. After all, they too had suffered from losing their home. In a way, they were orphans just as she was. The Broken ones were especially piteous, since they were such a departure from their original noble nature. It was for this reason that they traveled northwest, to Nagrand, once their stay at Hellfire Peninsula came to an end, even though Denevell would have preferred to go to Zangarmarsh. Skinflint remarked rather darkly in private that he spoiled her entirely too much.

To which Denevell retorted, "Well, she _is_ your little girl."

While she was there, she met a group of Dreanei traveling companions, two males and a female, whom she befriended. The woman's name was Tula, and she was a Paladin who wore her brown hair in pig tails and liked sparkly jewels. The males were a hunter and a shaman, Durn and Sen. Neiana had a hard time telling the difference between the two, a fact they used to their advantage when playing pranks on her. All were siblings, and she learned that all three were young by Draenei standards. The eldest, Durn, was a mere 2000 years old.

Skinflint encouraged the friendship, and allowed her to go with them on jobs and hunts without complaint. It was one of those days, when they were returning from a hunt that Neiana sensed Blindweed near a pool of water. It was close enough to Telaar so she felt secure. She probably didn't need the extra protection.

"You guys go on ahead, I have to gather some of this up!" she called.

"Be careful, we'll see you at the Inn!" Tula called back to her.

Neiana opened her bag and gathered her herbalist tools. As she prepared to collect the Blindweed, she caught her reflection in the water. Now apart from everyone, she allowed herself a little vanity. Her hair was disheveled and worn from her travels. She removed her hat and undid her bun, letting her hair fall loose. A wave of chestnut-brown hair cascaded down to her waist. With deft hands, she began to brush it. She would give it a quick braid before going back to her herbalism. As she examined her reflection, she admitted that she was not ugly, and at twenty, was beginning to feel a little lonely. There was a piece of her missing somewhere.

As for advice, she didn't feel like she could turn to anyone in her party. Geldie and Skinflint, being dwarves, didn't care. The Draenei seemed to have an entirely different perspective on such things, as old as they were, and Denevell was a puzzle.

When she'd asked him about it, one day while he was in cat form, he merely said that Night Elves and humans are of different minds when it comes to love. He left it at that, although there was a sadness that she noted in his voice that pulled at her heart. She couldn't bear to inquire further.

While she combed her hair, she thought she felt something lightly graze the strands of her loose hair. An amorphous shape reflected in the pool for an instant. It was standing directly behind her, dark, and in the general shape of a man. But it was so swift and indistinct, that she wondered if she'd imagined it. She quickly turned, thinking it may be an ambush, but saw no one. However, the clump of boulders to the north was suspicious. Surely there was someone there, hiding behind a rock. Since they were hiding, it meant one of two things: either he was an enemy or a pervert.

"Show yourself!" she demanded.

She raised herself slowly and took her staff by the hand.

"Whoever you are! I demand you show yourself!" she continued her demand, fearlessly.

Behind one of the larger boulders, there appeared a Blood Elf, in red and black plate armor. She couldn't help but notice that half his torso was exposed, peaking from between the straps of his chest plate. His face was partially covered by a helm, but she recognized his features at once.

"Sol!" she yelled with rage. "Why have you come to haunt me now? Do you think I am weak because of your beauty and my womanhood!? I will show you weakness!"

She silenced him and prepared to throw a fireblast in his direction, but he merely removed an item from one of his pacts and set it gently on the ground.

"Blast it! Come at me, damn it! You still have your sword."

But he wasn't affected by the taunt, which infuriated her. He whistled shrilly, revealing a large Dire Wolf. The elf swiftly mounted it and kicked it sides, commanding it to run forward. As he rode away, Neiana became enraged with his dismissal. She impulsively jumped on her horse, leaving her herbalism items, staff, and hat by the pool, and rushed on after him.

"Sol! Come back and fight me!" she cried.

She cast a firebolt in his direction, which he managed to dodge as he rushed on to Garadar. He turned to look back for a brief moment, and noticed that her loose hair was flying behind her, red tinged in the light, like a burgundy flame. After a few more volleys and a few minutes of chase, Sol veered to the northeast, leading her away from Garadar, and danger, and to Skysong Lake.

"Come on Chesse! We must catch up to that bastard!" she commanded, as she reared the horse to the right, chasing after him, not minding how close she was to the Horde encampment.

The horse found a reserve and burst in speed, managing to catch up to the Dire Wolf's side. Although had she been clearheaded, she would have noticed that Sol also slowed down to meet her. As they ran side-by-side into the sparse forest that surrounded the lake, the wolf turned at the horse and growled, snapping its fangs. But Chesse was a disciplined, well mostly, disciplined war horse. He pushed back at the Dire Wolf, bearing its teeth. Horse or no, his bites could do much damage.

Meanwhile, Neiana noticed that Sol was grinning. He was enjoying himself! It wouldn't do. She extended her right hand, preparing Cone of Cold, which would hopefully knock him off the mount and unsettle him, when she felt him grab her by the wrist and lift up her arm. The spell released harmlessly up in the air. He slowed the wolf, and along with it, the horse followed suit. She struggled with his grasp, but could not pull herself free. Just as she was about to reach for her wand with her left hand, he held it fast as well.

The mounts stopped all together, although they glared at each other, and occasionally shuffled with impatience, as their riders faced each other. He gripped her hands tightly, the right above her head and the left now near his chest. They were close, much too close for her comfort. She could see the sweat that glistened off his skin, and watch the rise and fall of his chest with every breath. They were surrounded on all sides by a small patch of woods, shielding them from prying eyes.

"Well, aren't you curious to see what I left behind?" he asked her in heavily accented common.

Her eyes widened with shock. He could understand her! He could speak common! This whole time, he knew what she was saying and he pretended not to understand! If not for the fact that she was dead set against the idea of Sol and Autumn being the same man, she would have figured it out that instant. As it was, the thought did not even occur to her.

"How dare you toy with me you arrogant cur! Let me go at once!"

"Why? It was you who chased me," he replied mischievously. "It was you who attacked me. I merely left an item that was promised to you in Winterspring for services rendered. I am not the aggressor here. Why should I let you go?"

She glared at him; her blue eyes sparkling; her cheeks flushed with anger.

"I hate you," she hissed.

He merely narrowed his eyes,

"Liar. Your pulse tells me different."

Sol's delicate fingers were not griping her that tightly and she felt herself shudder has he caressed his thumb over her wrist.

"Let me go, you fiend," she demanded, but her voice wavered.

He gave her a knowing smile. She looked down, unable to meet his gaze any longer. Her long lashes veiled her eyes, killing its fire but igniting one in Sol. He hadn't felt such fire since he'd seen Adelle's golden curls glisten in the sunlight all those years ago. A hunger he hadn't felt in years projected from his green eyes. Throwing all cares to the wind, he let go of her wrists, gathered up her face with one hand, pressed her close with the other, and kissed her. She was too shocked to breathe, too unsettled to move, and too confused to struggle.

It was then that moment that the blast of a riffle rang nearby, and a bullet grazed one of Sol's shoulder brace. Swift as lightning he let her go and dashed away through the thicket, leaving Neiana frozen in place. She touched her lips where he had pressed them with his own. They tingled. Her first kiss and it had been stolen! How could he? A small smile touched them, despite herself. No, she would not smile! She had not liked it. He was a fiend and monster; a traitor and thief!

Geldie walked up to her and called her name. Neiana did not hear her. Once again, the dwarf woman called her name, this time more forcefully. At last, Neiana looked at her and blushed, realizing that she'd seen everything.

"Please don't tell anyone!" she gasped. "It was not what I intended."

"That was tha' one from Winterspring, was it?" Geldie asked.

Neiana nodded slowly.

"He came up behind me. I wanted to fight him. To get back at him for betraying me...but..."

"Well, ya better be careful! Ya 'umans n' yer itch. Every time I am in a group with ye, I must keep ya from gettin' wit' child."

The Mage flushed with indignation. How dare she assume that she'd be so foolish as to engage in any sort of immodest behavior!

"I would never!" she declared.

"Of course not! Which is why I followed ya 'ere. I knew that ye were up ta somethin' as soon as I saw yer stuff lyin' by the pool. Typical 'uman. Now lass, let me tell ya 'bout tha letter I jest got in tha mail."

While on their way back to Telaar, Geldie informed her that Cyrus and Wigget were on their way and that she'd be going Allerian Stronghold. The news of Lorenna's betrayal saddened Neiana, as she'd hoped that Cyrus had found happiness. But Geldie knew better. She told her that she was not the sort of woman who would stick around one man until she got older.

Neiana asked Geldie to stop when they reached the boulders where she'd seen Sol place the item on the ground. Even through the tall grass, she caught something glistening on the ground. She hurriedly jumped off her horse and picked it up. It was a Diamond Focus Ring. At first her heart beat fast with excitement, as she remembered the kiss he'd stolen moments before. But it hardened just as fast. He was toying with her. Well, she was no one's toy! She would be a fool if she thought he cared about her at all.

Still, if she wanted to revenge herself on him, perhaps now she found his weakness. It was he who kissed her, after all. Perhaps she could use this to lure him into a trap of her own invention. But Outland was extremely large, much larger than she expected. It would be difficult for her to find him, but now that he knew where she was, it was likely that he would return. In all likelihood, he was stationed at Nagrand anyway. Her best bet was to stay in Nagrand for the remainder of her stay in Outland if she wanted to see him again.

She told no one of her plans. Geldie left the next morning.

Two days later, Cyrus and Wigget arrived tired and hungry. After a good bath and a meal, plans were made to head on to Zangarmarsh, where Denevell wanted to go. But Neiana insisted she would stay back. When pressed, she merely said that she loved the Draenei and wanted to stay with Tula, and was in no mood to change locations just yet.

Everyone was suspicious of her intentions, especially Cyrus, who probably knew her best of all of them. But she was a grown woman and there was only so much one could do.

"Will ya meet us at Shattrath in four months' time?" Skinflint asked, concerned.

"Yes, I promise I will meet you there," she replied firmly.

"Well, you better, or you'll find yourself with a mailing address in Outland," Cyrus remarked offhandedly.

"You stupid troll. I can go where I please anytime I want. I merely need to teleport to Stormwind to get back home. You've been hit too many times on the head," she snapped.

Only Denevell provided any sort of support.

"I respect your wish to stay, Neiana. This land is quite beautiful and sad. It needs the healing touch only those who truly love it can provide," Denevell said.

This only made Neiana feel worse. As much as she did love Nagrand, she wasn't staying for the love of the land or any of that, she just wanted revenge. Wigget gave her a critical eye, but let it pass. If Cyrus wasn't going to point out the blatant lie, then neither would she.

The next morning, the Alliance party left in cordial terms with Neiana, with promises of meeting again in four months at Shattrath. As soon as they were gone, she quietly made preparations for her hunt. She would use Durn's Track Humanoid sense to systematically search for Blood Elves in the area, and hunt them down. If she found Sol among them, then she'd use herself as a lure to gank him.

She told her group the plan. As it was, they hated Blood Elves even more than she did so they readily agreed. The hunt went well, as far as the Draenei were concerned. They sacked no less than fifteen elves in the course of three months, looting them and selling their clothes for cash. Neiana thought the act was a little disrespectful, so she abstained. All the while, she wondered what happened to Sol. She did not see him again.

The plan may have worked had it not been for a meddling Orc. On the day that Sol met with Neiana, his party became concerned when he did not arrive from Allerian in a timely manner. Lucilin worried he'd been ganked. After all, he'd gone entirely too close to Alliance territory for her liking. She would have rushed out to search for him, but Guntag was more level headed. Before they went about on a wild goose chase, he checked with the Flight Master. He was informed that Sol had flown earlier that day, heading to Nagrand.

Guntag thought it was odd, although Lucilin guessed he'd gone ahead to scout the area. They were almost done with Terokkar forest, after all. He was not so sure, since Sol had expressly told him that they would be heading for Netherstorm to besiege Tempest Keep. Something didn't feel right, but he kept his feelings to from her, while discretely asking Huron to aim his Far Sight at Nagrand, in order to locate Sol.

Huron saw everything. His heavy bovine brow furrowed with concern at what he witnessed.

"I see why you brought me here," he murmured. "He is...volatile...as you said."

"What happened?" Guntag asked.

"He was followed by a human woman, whom he conversed with and kissed," Huron replied.

"Talked to? But how?"

He was much less concerned about the kissing part, even though that was unusual enough.

"He knows common, Guntag," Huron replied. "How do we know he's not a spy?"

"That elf has few principles. He believes in his own pocket more than anything else. But I have spent too much time with him to believe he could be a spy," Guntag murmured.

When Sol returned, they noticed that he looked rather refreshed and invigorated.

"And where were you?" Lucilin asked curtly.

"I was in Nagrand," Sol replied with exuberance. "I got chased by Alliance. It was great. We should definitely go there next. Guntag, there is plenty of big game for you to hunt. Huron, you would appreciate the view. And Bill?"

"Yes sir?"

"Plenty of herbs. Here's your cut from the sale," Sol said.

He tossed a small bag full of change.

"Hrm, it isn't quite what we expected," Bill mumbled.

"Keep it fresher next time," Sol interjected. "Now, we must rest before going tomorrow..."

"Sol, I thought the plan was to go to Netherstorm to attack Tempest Keep," Guntag interrupted.

"We'll still go, but we'll just take a small detour at Nagrand," Sol explained.

The explanation did not pacify the Orc. Guntag did not reply with words, but looked at him gravely as he motioned to a side room. Sol, curious to know what bothered him, went as directed, with Huron following. Lucilin tried to flounce in as well, but the giant Tauren slammed the door in her face.

"Hrmph," she said, and then pressed her ear to the door.

Unfortunately, the door was of heavy Orc make, so there was little she could make out, even with her excellent elf ears. Inside the room was dark, lit only by the evening's gray twilight. Huron did not leave his place by the door, and Guntag stood before Sol, weapons drawn at his side. Sol glanced at the blocked exit and noted Guntag's aggressive stance.

"Guntag, what is the meaning of this?" he asked cautiously.

"You tell us, Soliandrus Lightbringer, elf," the Orc spat. "It is you who has been lying to us."

"What do you mean?"

"You spoke with a human woman. I saw it with my own eyes, using Far Sight," Huron explained. "Now, how do we know you are not a spy?"

Sol was about to defend himself but Guntag interrupted.

"Don't you dare accuse Huron of lying, as I know you will. Tauren are bound by rules of honor that you elves do not understand," Guntag growled.

Sol did not raise his voice in defiance or fight. He understood his precarious situation. The fact that he understood common was not the problem. The problem was that he spoke with an Alliance woman. Now that was illegal. It could land him in jail - or worse - in an Undercity prison camp. He shuddered at the possibility.

"Give us one good reason we don't arrest you now and send you to the dungeons of Undercity," Huron rumbled.

"I was playing the Game," Sol replied, with as much confidence as he could muster.

His mouth felt dry. He realized, for the first time, that he was afraid. As afraid as he'd felt in a long time. He'd been in a dungeon before, and it was the stuff of nightmares. Some of the things he witnessed there haunted him still in his sleep or when he felt the shadows creep over him at night. He tried to hide it, but it was always there, like a specter glancing over his shoulder. If human dungeons could produce such terror, he could only imagine what the bloodless Forsaken would have in store.

"Why would you fly all the way to Nagrand to play the Game?" Guntag demanded.

Sol decided not to lie. It would do him no good.

"Her companions interrupted the sale of Bloodthistle. I was shocked, so I hid. I overheard them talking. I learned that Neiana, the woman we ganked at Winterspring, was alive and that she was in Nagrand. So I went there to finish the job we started months ago. I goaded her to chase me. I lead her to a secluded area, and then began to tease her. I spoke to her in common to lower her defenses. Once she was in my power, I would kill her. But I was interrupted by a hunter. I decided it was too risky, so I fled," he explained calmly.

Guntag narrowed his eyes. It was a plausible explanation, one that fit Sol's personality and methods, and it matched everything Huron had seen. The Orc decided to believe him. He wanted to believe him, for all he talked about elves, Sol was his friend.

"Well, you shouldn't concern yourself with that silly Game anymore. It doesn't fit your status. If you want a woman, then marry and sire a child. Perhaps that would settle you down," Guntag said, punching his arm playfully, and then he continued with audible disappointment. "I wish you had told me that you spoke common."

"I am sorry, friend, but you know how things are. I didn't want you to think that I would betray you. But I swear to you, as self-serving as I am, I hate humans and their ilk too much to ever betray the Horde," Sol declared emphatically.

Sol's passion resonated with the seasoned Orc. He nodded with agreement.

"Hrm. Let's forget about this then," Guntag exclaimed with some relief as he sheathed his swords. "Let's go to Netherstorm and hunt."

Guntag walked to the door, which Huron had opened.

"Coming?" Guntag asked.

"No, I'll stay here and settle my nerves a little bit. You can be quite scary, you know," Sol said.

The Orc gave him a knowing grin before replying. "I know."

Huron did not follow Guntag out of the room immediately. Instead, he turned back to Sol and loomed over him menacingly.

"Guntag may trust you, but I do not. I will be watching you, _elf_."

And with that he slammed the door, leaving him in the evening gloom.

Sol slumped on the bed and steadied his shaking hands. If there was one weakness of Horde, and it was a glaring one, is that the races didn't quite get along. At the very least, there was tension and discomfort, as exemplified by Guntag's toleration of Bill. At most, as exhibited by Huron, there was hostility. For all the lack of Alliance cooperation, at least they genuinely liked each other. Even the Draenei seemed to fit in quite nicely. A smart Alliance commander could exploit it. Good thing there was no such thing as a smart Alliance commander.

"Damn it," he whispered angrily.

He'd let his guard down over a pair of blue eyes and lustrous brown hair. Never again, he'd said. Sol had sworn he'd never be thrown in a dungeon again. There was nothing in life worth such a fate: not ideals, not money, and certainly not a woman. If he were a man, it may have been harder for him to control his budding feelings and risk it all. But he was no man, he was an elf. He could stifle such urges if need be, especially since he rarely felt their sting.

That night he wrote an entry:

_Nagrand Summer - Day 14 _

_Neiana._

The next morning they packed their things and left for Netherstorm.

**AN:** Thanks for the Reviews! Chapter 11 will be up soon.


	11. Chapter 11 Siege of Tempest Keep

**Ganked V 2.0 **

**AN: **Since attunement is no longer needed, I didn't feel like adding that whole quest chain just to get into the Eye, which probably wouldn't have been necessary if this were a real world and not a fantasy game. Also I thought of it in terms of actual battle and not instances, so each different ship is actually part of the whole and not a separate "battle." I don't go into detail with the siege since that's in the game.

**Chapter 11 Siege of Tempest Keep**

Netherstorm was a barren, violent waste, topping off the last bit of habitable land left on Outland. Old ruins dotted the violet tinged rock while violent magical storms churned about the atmosphere, leaving few places for safety. Few ventured there for long, but those who did, like the enterprising Goblins, were either brave or foolhardy. Some thought it was both.

For once, Sol was not there for the money. His eyes were locked east, toward Tempest Keep. It was the reason he arrived in Outland in the first place, and it was there that Sol hoped to come face to face with Kael'thas Sunstrider and end the traitor's life. He didn't relish the idea of fighting fellow Blood Elves, many of whom he knew personally and had fought alongside in battle, but their fight had become madness.

The madness needed to end then and there. However, he was limited by the sheer scope required for the Siege. Tempest keep was no mere Dungeon, it required a raiding party greater than his party of five. It was long known that twenty-five were sufficient, with more if needed.

However, finding a group of twenty able-bodied Horde sell swords proved more difficult than expected. More than one fighter would agree to join the assault, only to flake a few days later because of some personal obligation. Then there was pregnancy. The two primary losses in troops were death and pregnancy, in that order. Although this was more problematic among humans, it proved to be a surprising source of attrition with the Blood Elves. Time and proximity, plus the intimacy which comes with it, erupted in quite a few pair bonds that resulted in children. Although they were necessary, as the Blood Elf race was a dwindling one teetering on the brink of extinction, it posed no end of frustration for Sol, who found himself suck in Netherstorm all geared up with nowhere to go.

In the past year and a half, Tempest Keep had been assaulted no less than six times with all assaults ending in failure. One hundred and fifty troops, fifty of them Alliance, committed to the assaults only to be pushed back. Most did not come back alive. At least three parties disappeared completely. Those who returned, half dead and exhausted, told tales of mad elves, elementals and demons.

During his time planning, he pushed back all thoughts of the human girl away. But there was one person who did not forget. Lucilin had overheard enough of the conversation to become intensely curious about his time in Nagrand. But proximity with Sol did not allow her to investigate until months later.

Although the armor he'd worn then was quickly discarded for armor won while securing the Eye of the Storm, he was as yet unable to sell it, so he kept it stored away in their room. One day, she found herself alone for an extended period of time and she took the opportunity to examine it. She'd noticed a nick in his right shoulder brace that just screamed for investigation. When she pulled it out of his pack, she observed that the nick was actually a bullet graze. She could see from the trajectory of the bullet's path that he'd been shot from behind. She knew just how accurate hunters at their level were from experiences with Guntag. The possibility that a hunter had declined to aim for the large target that was his back in favor of a smaller target, that was his shoulder or head, was ludicrous. This was not meant to be a kill shot. No, that was a warning shot. The Hunter, whoever he was, gave Sol a chance to escape once he was discovered. But why would he do that?

Sol's words, emphatically spoken to Guntag that night, denying that he would ever betray them, where etched in her mind. It was one of the few things she could overhear, but they revealed much about the rest of the conversation. The only reason that Huron and Guntag would even suspect Sol of treachery would be if they watched him communicate with a member of the Alliance. The fact that he spoke common was an absolute secret that she'd kept from everyone. Even though it was known that some Blood Elves understood Alliance common, it was illegal to communicate with them. For his protection, she kept silent. But if Huron had spied Sol speaking to someone, perhaps a woman, then he would think them betrayed.

Curiosity got the better of her and she opened his personal bag that was laying beside his bed. She rummaged until she found his journal. Opening it somewhere about a third of the way to the end, where she'd seen him write recently, she began to scan the entries. Since each entry was only two lines, each page actually had three columns of ten to eleven entries, depending on the length of the month. Therefore, each page held a month worth of entries.

After finding the appropriate month, the First of Summer, she scanned the columns until she found the very last entry before traveling to Netherstorm.

"Shadowmoon Valley...Shattrath...Terokkar forest... there! Nagrand..." she murmured as she scanned each entry with her finger.

Her eyes widened.

_Nagrand Summer - Day 14 _

_Neiana._

That woman again! So she had survived their ganking in Winterspring and he'd found her. Jealousy struck her heart like a barbed arrow. Although he'd told her to return if she accepted his feelings of filial love, she had not returned for that reason. She'd returned because she refused give up. Had he no idea? Her feelings where not of some childish infatuation or misplaced childhood yearning for paternal love. No, she'd known her father, and he was not Sol. She was bound to him in the same way that he'd bound to a memory. She would have him and none other.

The sound of footfalls falling against stone disrupted her investigation. She quickly jammed the journal back into the bag. She swiftly scrambled on to her bed, grabbed her brush, and began to brush her hair. Sol entered the room and scanned it suspiciously. His keen eyes noticed that his bag had been rummaged through.

"Lucilin, what were you doing?" he asked, amused.

"Oh nothing. I was merely brushing my hair," she replied as nonchalantly as she could.

"Well, your hair looks fine. We are having a meeting. It is almost time," he announced.

As they walked to the designated meeting place, which in the commons area of the Inn, Lucilin glanced at him as he walked before her. She thought the new Vindicator armor looked very good on him, the silver contrasting nicely with jet black hair and the gold and sapphire complimenting his eyes.

Suddenly, she felt a surge of hope. If he were falling in love with a woman, it meant that his heart was once again ready to bond. How could he possibly form a pair bond with someone with whom he never spent any time? She was in a much better position than she'd realized. This was no threat. No, this was an opportunity. All she had to do was find a way to make him think of her as an elf woman, not a girl.

She found herself smiling happily at the prospect. That is when they reached their destination. He opened the door and turned to let her in, when he noticed she was smiling like a fool.

"Well, that's rare," he noted.

"Oh, I'm just excited about the assault on Tempest Keep is all," she replied, still grinning.

"Smother it. This is no ordinary expedition. This isn't a dungeon filled with loot and gold for us to explore, but a fight for our very survival. You may even recognize some of the people you will call enemies very soon," he commanded seriously.

She smothered her smile, suddenly feeling dejected.

"Still, it suits you. Try it more often and perhaps you wouldn't always be so cross," he teased before urging her through the door.

When they entered the room, she immediately noted that besides her party members, there were a pair of elves in the middle of the room. One of them, the male, who seemed to be a little over venerable age, was blond. His elaborate red and violet robes delineated him as a mage, while his wife wore the black and pearl robes of a priest. Her flaming red hair was pinned up in a smart bun, and she looked only slightly younger than the man. But she was no less fearsome. Their age and experience cast a large shadow in the room, and she felt the weight of their collective knowledge press upon her soul.

"Lucilin, you are the last to meet them. These are Lord and Lady Silverstar," Sol said. "They were commanders under Kael'thas. I fought with them during the Third War."

_A married couple,_ she thought jealously.

"Lord and Lady Silverstar, this is Lucilin Aeyou, my ward. She is a competent rogue and makes the last of my party."

She bristled over being called a ward. She was nothing of the sort!

"She seems competent enough, Lightbringer," the woman said. "And you have gathered a very formidable party."

"Indeed," the man interjected. "You are as discerning with talent as you are with jewels. You were always one of our best recruiters, Lightbringer."

Sol nodded deferentially at the praise.

"I have also gathered ten others who are willing to charge into Tempest Keep this very night if need be. Each of them are just as competent as these you see before you. But, as I have explained in my letter, it has been almost impossible for us to find another ten who can commit."

"Indeed, Lightbringer, we have heard of your plight and have come with our own forces. Together, we will join our strength stop this madness," the Lady declared.

"But let us remember that Kael'thas was a competent leader. He is the last true Prince of the House of Sunstrider, and heir to the throne. He saved us from the abyss when all was lost, even to the sacrifice of his soul," the Lord said.

A moment of silence was observed. Guntag shifted slightly and Huron scratched an itch on his back with his axe. There was nothing like Blood Elf posturing and speeches.

"I am willing to wager that Kael'thas talks as much as these guys," Huron whispered to Guntag in Taur-ahe.

"If not more," Guntag retorted.

Lucilin gave them a cold glare and hushed them.

The next day, the rest of the forces mustered by the two venerable commanders arrived. No less than twelve Blood Elves, Forsaken and their retinue made the trip. As they passed through the Gyro-Plank Bridge and entered Area 52, a few Draenei and other Alliance members became uneasy. The alignment of the area shifted too strongly toward the Horde, and they could sense something afoot. The large number of Blood Elves meant only one thing: an assault on Tempest Keep.

Later, Sol and his party, along with the two Blood Elf commanders, were having supper at the Inn that was now brimming with patrons. As they ate, they could feel Draenei glaring at them with hostility. A few insults were thrown in their direction. The Blood Elves merely continued their meal with poise and decorum. Although the woman could not help but smirk with satisfaction. Like Sol, the older pair could understand Alliance common perfectly well.

"It's a shame that we can't just join forces and attack together," Sol remarked offhandedly, shocking them all.

The Lady was in the middle of putting a fork in her mouth when he spoke, and remained in that position for a good minute. The Lord froze as well, holding his cup in mid-air, as though in suspended animation. The other members of his party where no less affected. The table became entirely silent, with Huron giving Guntag a knowing glance. All stopped in their tracks, except for Bill, who was engrossed with a bowl of Crunchy Spider Surprise.

Noting the effect of his words, he merely shrugged before explaining himself.

"Well, since we have the same goals, it makes sense. We get Kael'thas, they retake the Keep. Either way, both of us want him gone and we get what we want."

"Absolutely not! They are barbarians!" the woman declared emphatically.

Lucilin then found the need to defend her future husband, at least that is what she'd thought of him.

"I can't believe they'd be more barbaric than Bill here," Lucilin observed sardonically. "I don't see them eating spiders."

"I'll have you know that this is the best serving of Crunchy Spider Surprise I have had since my stay here in Outland," he declared.

"How would you know that, Bill? You don't have a tongue, remember?!" she shot back.

Guntag laughed despite the gravity of the situation, nearly choking on his Beer Blasted Boar Ribs, which induced a coughing fit. Huron had to beat him on the back several times before it finally subsided. But Lady Silverstar was not amused.

"They are absolutely savages, Soliandrus. For example, you may not be aware of this but right now, at this very moment, there is a hunt going on in Nagrand targeting Blood Elves," she declared forcefully.

This made Sol perk up. He turned from his meal and gave the woman his full attention.

"What do you mean by hunt? Are you saying that someone, or a group, is deliberately targeting Blood Elves?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," she replied. "We've had Forsaken scouts confirm it. It's three Draenei youth and some human mage. They seek out Blood Elves, or teams with them, kill them, and _lay them bare,_ taking their clothes as trophies. Imagine the indignity of being resurrected _naked_."

This time it was Huron's turn to be amused. The thought of a bunch of proud and vain elves being undone by a youthful prank was almost too much for him to hold back. But to preserve the peace, he was not about to let it show. He hid his snout behind a large glass of ale as he smothered a laugh.

Sol was also amused, especially since it was implied that most of the Horde victims were actually being resurrected, which meant few people actually dying.

"Naked, you say?" he asked with faux outrage.

Lucilin also hid a smile behind her ale. Aristocratic elves could be quite thin skinned.

"Yes! Left in naught but their unmentionables! It is too much to even consider. Isn't it dear?" She said, turning to Lord Silverstar.

"Yes, indeed. Quite shocking. We will be getting them for this outrage soon enough. Especially the mage, who seems to be the ringleader in all of this," Lord Silverstar explained.

"The mage is the ringleader?" Sol asked, still enjoying their aristocratic outrage.

"Yes, a woman in fact. They've been at it for three months now," she continued. "But you needn't concerned yourself. We've already issued a bounty on them. There are Horde party members traveling to Nagrand right now with an eye for gold and retribution. They'll be put to justice soon enough."

"You will put a bounty on their heads for a prank?" Sol asked, incredulously.

Although he was steadying his voice, those who knew him best could see that he was concerned. Bill at last looked up from his meal and became quite interested in the conversation. He keenly observed Sol's expressions, as they ran the gamut from shock to anger to concern.

"It is more than just a mere prank, Soliandrus. It is _humiliation _and _theft_. It strikes at our very pride. We will not be trifled with! They will die by our hands and they will not return. We have instructed that we want their heads in return for the bounty," she explained.

Sol placed down his fork and excused himself, immediately leaving the table without another word.

"Must have been something in the meat," Guntag said, covering for his friend.

"Indeed. I don't trust these Goblin chefs, but what are we to do in times like this as we are forced to align ourselves with barbarians?" Lord Silverstar asked rhetorically, forgetting that two on the table were the very barbarians he'd just mentioned.

Huron frowned and excused himself as well, barely hiding his disgust. Guntag, accustomed to Blood Elf snobbery, took it in stride. After a few minutes, Lucilin excused herself as well, anxious to find Sol.

"My dear," The Lord began. "What have they been putting in the mutton? I don't believe I'll be finishing my meal tonight after all."

"Indeed not, husband. I seem to have lost my appetite," she agreed.

Lucilin burst in their room, looking for Sol, but he was not there. Huron was there, though, looking out the window.

"Huron, do you know where Sol went?" she asked.

"He is outside, by the wall," he replied tersely.

It wouldn't be until much later that Lucilin would consider just how ominous Huron's behavior was at the time. But at the moment, she didn't care. She rushed outside and headed to the wall to the west, closest to the inn. That is where she spotted him, a small figure against a violent magic filled sky. His brow was furrowed as he stood with his arms crossed, looking towards the empty, void of the Nether. She could tell he was grappling with himself, trying to find a victor in a personal struggle.

She approached slowly, so as not to startle him.

"Sol," she began. "I am sorry."

He turned to her, curiously.

She glanced down to the ground before continuing.

"I lied, you know, earlier today. I read your journal. I read that you met her at Nagrand...that's...Neiana, she's the human mage hunting us, isn't she?"

He silenced her swiftly, raising his hand to her lips. A small, yet robust, figure ran past them, heading for Dash's place for supplies. It was a dwarf woman, followed by her pet Wolf. Even though she wore a heavy Deathstalker helm, he could see the hair peaking from beneath the helm was golden. The struggle that had marked his features lifted, as he came to a firm resolution.

Sol turned to Lucilin, giving her that serious, earnest look that could compel her to do anything.

"Lucilin, you must promise me something."

She nodded with agreement, finding it impossible to refuse him.

"Go back to the Lord and Lady. If they ask, tell them that I am indisposed and in my room. Do you understand? Go now, and whatever you do, do not turn back!" he ordered.

She nodded and followed his orders. As soon as Sol watched Lucilin head to the Inn, he vanished into the shadows and followed the Dwarf woman to her destination. Just as she was going to enter the squat, stone home, he called her name.

Geldie turned to the shadow, and saw a Blood Elf appear from the gloom. She stepped back, unnerved that he should call her, although she recognized him at once. It was the same elf who stayed with them at Winterspring. It was the same elf who stole a kiss from Neiana not three months ago. She had carved his armor with a warning.

"Geldie, you must listen to me very carefully. Neiana's life depends on it," he commanded in common.

She was too stunned to do anything but comply.

The next day, early in the morning, nearly thirty Horde companions that comprised the large raiding party that would brave the dangers of Tempest Keep and remove Kael'thas once and for all, left Area 52, heading due east. They left with much pomp, each person following in a two line formation. Lord and Lady Silverstar flew up front, one leading each line, with Sol and Guntag right behind them. There were banners and livery aplenty, making it seem as though an army was parading for a great battle. Some of the Horde who were not part of the party, watched from bellow and cheered.

"Go get Kael'thas!" an Orc called from the throng.

"For the Horde!" a Troll female cheered, her heart fluttering with excitement as the small army flew only a few feet above her, their armor gleaming and swords glittering in the violet light.

The Alliance member's response was much more muted. Half openly jeered, while others merely stood with a mix of anger and hope. After all, Kael'thas was a mutual enemy, if the enemy of their enemy were to fight, would it not make them allies, even if for that moment?

Among the throng was Geldie, who stood with her Gray Wolf and two friends. Lorenna remarked on how handsome the Blood Elves looked as they passed by. Daela was too preoccupied with contempt for them to notice. But Geldie was looking for one in particular. As he hovered close, he shot her a questioning look, which she returned it with a small, barely perceptible nod. He breathed a sigh of relief before turning to the road before him.

After a day's flight and a night's rest, they split into three groups and took the first three wings of Tempest Keep. Sol led his team and took the Mechanar, while the Lord and Lady split their forces and took Alchatraz and Botanica. Instead of retreating, which had been the mistake of the previous raids, they stayed and held them against incoming troops, preventing the fallen enemies from being resurrected and the won areas from being retaken. After a night's siege, they joined forces and attacked The Eye. For five hours they inched their way through the corridors, fighting vicious enemies along the way. Many of those who fell, Sol knew by name. At long last, they took Tempest Bridge after a heated battle and finally, once again, met face to face with Kael'thas Sunstrider. They were exhausted and nearly spent.

It was a bitter-sweet reunion, as Sol and the Lord and Lady stood before their corrupted Prince. The Lords had known him as a child, while Sol had fought with him against the Scourge and suffered with him through the tortures they endured while in the Dungeons of Dalaran. Many of the other Blood Elves in their company had known him too either by experience or reputation. They remembered him when he was uncorrupted, young, and brave. They remembered him as he was then, and compared him to the beast he was now, and were grieved. It was a grim work, but his madness needed to end.

Even in the end, he was just as loquacious as Huron the Tauren had predicted.

They returned as heroes. Sol, being the one who organized the party, got first choice of loot and made out quite well, as usual, as did his party. But everyone, from the Sol and the Lords to the least Forsaken, came out of the dungeon fitted like kings. Their bags bulging from whatever useful items could be scavenged from the corpses of the Blood Elves that lay dead, scattered like dried leaves upon the floor.

Far from Netherstorm, in the grassy fields of Nagrand, Neiana woke the morning after the siege of Tempest Keep. News of it had not yet arrived and only those in Shattrath knew of the siege and that Kael'thas Sunstrider yet lived. But to her, it was just an ordinary day. She stretched and prepared herself for another day of hunting, when the Inn keeper alerted her of newly arrived mail. Thinking she was getting yet another letter from Skinflint, she didn't open it until after breakfast. But it was most definitely not a letter from Skinflint. The contents of the letter alarmed her.

Her hand shook with fear as she read the short note:

_Neiana, _

_The Blood Elves know of your hunt! Flee at once to Shattrath! A bounty was placed on your heads! _

_Geldie _

The four packed up and left that very day. They followed Geldie's advice and went to Shattrath, the only place in Outland where they would be safe from any bounty. So a full month before schedule, Neiana found herself renting a room at Aldor Rise Inn, with nowhere to go and no way to supplement her income. Once there, the siblings decided they wanted to continue to explore their new home of Azeroth, and leave Outland all together. Because it was just three of them, they would be safe since the bounty specifically called for three Draenei and a human mage.

"There is nothing here for us, Neiana," Tula explained. "So we must go and explore our new home. After you reunite with the rest of them, perhaps you can join us. We'll keep in touch, I promise."

Sen, the younger brother, seemed the saddest to go. He gave her a lingering kiss on the cheek before turning to go, which elicited teasing from his siblings in their language.

"Don't get too attached! They are like vapor!" Tula exclaimed.

"Loving a human woman is like loving a wisp!" Durn teased.

So she was left alone in Shattrath. Although she was not one who needed company, and was used to living on her own, the fact that she spent most of her time ganking Horde in Nagrand instead of working for the Alliance or exploring Dungeons made life a little difficult.

Too proud to ask for help and too embarrassed to admit the that she'd wasted her time, Neiana lived as best she could on her own without telling Denevell or Skinflint of her predicament. Since there was no auction house, she was forced to sell the herbs she'd acquired in Nagrand for much reduced merchant prices. Once every potion she'd made and item of use she'd found was sold, she didn't have any other source of income. Although she was good at saving money, lodging had become expensive. The Inn up at Aldor's Rise was pricier than the one in the lower commons, but she would not live there for fear of running into a vengeful Horde's blade in her sleep.

Shortly after the defeat of Kael'thas, he reappeared at Quel'Danas, besieging it and taking residence at Magisters' Terrace. Sol did not participate in his ultimate defeat. The Lord and Lady thought it better for him to remain in Outland and help retain the Horde's presence there. Kael'thas was greatly weakened and they judged that a smaller siege force would do, anyway. But he guessed at another, hidden motive. Lady Silverstar's greedy eyes lingered on several of Sol's acquisitions. It was obvious to him that she was not happy with him getting some of the more choice items, considering his working class background.

It didn't matter too much for him. He knew how to work, and wasted no time with resource acquisition and making his favorite items, jewels. By the time a month passed, Sol's wealth had increased proportionately, and he arrived in Shattrath with an equally enriched party. For them, Outland had proved a profitable venture, but they were more than ready to return to Azeroth.

**AN:** I hope this chapter was OK. I am actually nervous about this. Thanks for the reviews.


	12. Chapter 12 The Gauntlet

**Ganked V 2.0b **

**Chapter 12 The Gauntlet **

Three weeks after she arrived at Shattrath before schedule, she decided it was wise to inform Skinflint of her early arrival. She sent him a letter. In it, she merely stated that the Draenei wanted to go to Azeroth and she decided to head to Shattrath early. Strictly speaking, it was not a lie. It was merely her telling them the truth, while holding back important information. He wrote to her immediately and informed her that they were on their way. The trip would take about two days.

It was good that he was. She was nearly at the end of her tether, almost out of money, and having only the most useless items left from her trip at Nagrand. But since there was an abundance of useless items being hawked at Shattrath, finding a buyer proved to be more difficult than she'd expected. After all, who would want to buy chipped claws or rusted tools?

With one last bit of copper left, she decided to head to the World's End. She guessed correctly that the bounty on her was about spent, and being a lone mage without her Draenei companions, she was in no danger for assassination. In theory, Shattrath was a safe haven where old rivalries were set aside. It was illegal to fight anyone there. And it was mostly true in practice, but there was no guard, no matter how vigilant, that could watch everywhere all at once. And if a Troll were found dead in a ditch one morning, who was to say that it wasn't from a drunken brawl? In such cases, the code of silence was not broken. Shattrath was a vast city, filled with mercenaries and sell swords. It was not entirely safe, despite its reputation as a sanctuary. Still, she needed a stiff drink. Besides, someone was bound to buy some chipped claws.

It was nearly nightfall when Sol and his party arrived at Shattrath. After checking in all their mounts at the stable of a very packed inn, they parted ways. Guntag decided to go fishing at Silmyr Lake, taking GlubGlug and Huron with him. Lucilin claimed she was tired from the trip and wanted a hot bath. Lucky for her, the Draenei at Shattrath had wised up and realized that certain races, namely elves and gnomes, considered the ritualistic dunking of water an absolute necessity and opened up a hot spring near Aldor's Rise. Humans, Orcs, Dwarves and Forsaken (especially the males) would not be caught near, thinking it another strange elven manifestation. Tauren just rolled around in the mud and called it a day. She invited him to come along but Sol was in no mood for her extended company after a harrowing three-day long road trip with all the bickering, stress, and aggravation it entailed. Bill explored the vast library of the Arcane.

Left alone, Sol decided he needed a drink.

The journey to Shattrath was dotted with dangers: with wild animals and enemies, so he traveled fully equipped, including his helm, which he did not remove after he entered the bar, so accustomed was he to wearing it.

He entered the busy bar only to see a human girl haggling with the bartender. He recognized her at once. It was Neiana. Her long, brown hair, was gathered in a loose bun. She wore long plain robes, and held a simple staff. It was clear to him that her time at Outland had not been as profitable to her as it had been to him. It was her own fault, he mused, wasting her time hunting elves and gathering plants when she could have been making a fortune sacking dungeons. And here she was, desperately trying to sell a chipped claw. Well, he pitied her, but he was no fool. The best thing to do was keep away from her, so he took his place at a table near the end of the room, adjacent to a table that seated three Alliance adventurers, waiting for the barmaid while keeping an eye on her.

"What do you mean you wont buy this chipped claw? Everyone buys chip claws!" she cried.

"We have no need for them here ma'am," the annoyed elf replied.

"But it is a good chipped claw! You can make them into wine bottle openers and necklaces!"

The barkeeper then pointed to a large can filled with wine bottle openers and necklaces made of chipped claws. The sign read: stuff made from chipped claws, 2 copper each.

"As you can see, the owner got the same idea a year ago and those have been sitting around ever since. They haven't sold and now he's forced to put them on clearance. He's getting rid of them at a loss. You know what that means?"

She shook her head.

"It means that he loses money. And you know what that means?"

Her eyes were watering.

"No," she squeaked.

"It means I get paid less!"

"But…I can't even sell these at the auction house," she whined.

"There is a reason for that! Listen lady, read the sign!"

She then pointed to a very large, very yellow sign that had a very prominent message posted in five different languages:

WE DO NOT BUY YOUR JUNK! NO EXCEPTIONS!

"Oh," she said, feeling sheepish.

"Oh…" the barkeeper mimicked mercilessly.

The woman, feeling deflated and stupid, found an empty booth and proceeded to mope.

"Good thing Skinflint isn't here to see this," she grumbled.

A High Elf waitress with an attitude came around.

"Listen, the boss told me that we don't take poor loafers like you. Git!"

She was about to leave when a group of men, seated at the table next to Sol, stopped her by calling her over. Sol noticed that one of them, an older human man, had been leering at her the whole time. There was something familiar about that one, but he couldn't quite place it. Still, he'd seen a lot of humans in his his long life.

"She's with me," the man called.

He put two gold coins on the table and then invited her to sit with them. They were a rough looking bunch. Besides the balding, gray-haired man who just offered a seat, there was also a pink-haired Gnome Warlock who was missing an eye and a tall, beardless elf Rogue with deep blue hair, almost as dark as midnight. The two younger men were seated directly behind him. Hey could almost touch their shoulders with the hilt of his sword if he so wanted. She sighed and decided she had nothing else to lose.

"Two honey mead," the man said.

"Whatever," the elf said before heading to Sol's table.

He asked for some honey mead as well.

Neiana gave the three sellswords a sheepish grin as she took a seat.

"Thanks for the drink. Things haven't been exactly fruitful right now," she said.

"That's alright, miss, always willing to help," the man began with a toothy grin.

"Julius here is a great warrior. You should see him in battle," the pink haired gnome began.

The elf poked him in the side and whispered forcefully, "Too early Gearshift!" before smoothly turning to the girl. "What my drunk, and stupid, gnome friend here is trying to say, is that we've had a great time here in Outland. It's been quite profitable."

"Gentlemen! How rude of us, it's time for introductions," Julius, the older man, began. "I am Julius McFinn, this pink haired abomination is our friend Gearshift Turnwrench, and this ugly chap here is Faelden Nightwalker."

"Pleased to meet you," Neiana said, feeling awkward. "I am Neiana."

"Neiana...what? If I may ask," Julius began.

"Oh, I don't know. I was a foundling."

"Ah! A foundling, why how sad," Julius said with exaggerated sympathy.

The elf serving wench brought back the round of drinks. Besides the mead for Neiana and Julius, she also had some beer and wine for the gnome and the elf. As she passed by Sol's table to hand him his drink, he motioned her down.

"What can you tell me about those guys?" he asked in Thalassian.

"Who them? They're a rowdy bunch but they don't mean no harm. They like women, though. She seems like easy pickings."

He gave her a cold glare, which she didn't notice due to his helm.

"Thank you, High Elf," he said tersely. "You may go."

"No need to act all high 'n mighty, Blood Elf. You'd be waiting tables too if you were in my place," she snapped before leaving.

With that she left with a huff, and Sol stayed, becoming very curious of their conversation. Most of it was Julius at first, with Faelden and Gearshift adding parts that enhanced Julius' participation and strength. Then it became interesting. They claimed, quite boldly, that they participated in the Siege of Tempest Keep!

What nonsense, Sol thought. As if those three buffoons could have gotten anywhere near Tempest Keep, much less take it!

How funny it would be if he were to suddenly appear before them and call them on their ruse. After all, he had on him the original Chrystalforge Breastplate, picked from Kael'thas broken body, which proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had been there. He relished the thought of revealing their lie. But alas! He had to sit there and pretend he cold not understand common.

Things got awkward, however, once the second glass of mead came around and they learned that she could not hold her liquor at all. It was her turn to talk and share her own tales of adventure, which to her, were really a tale of woe. Since she was drunk and getting worse by the second, she became painfully honest, which goaded the group for more information. The more they talked, the more she talked, and the more amused they became.

"So you spent four months looking for a guy in Nagrand?" Julius asked.

"Yeah…wut's wrong wit' that?" she asked.

"But the Outlands are so vast! Don't you think that's silly?" Gearshift asked.

"They reminded me o' 'ome, besides, there weren't many Blood 'lves there. I figured that he'd stand out. Besides, 'e's come around before, I thought maybe 'e would show up again," she explained, leaving some bits out.

"Blood Elves?" Faelden asked.

"Yes, they don't really show up there 'lot. They all 'ead ta Netherssstorm... Especially since 'e 'ad spiky black hair...hick.. There aren't many o' those runnin' 'round...I think."

"Is it me? Or is she starting to sound a lot a dwarf?" Gearshift asked.

"Probably raised by one," Sol heard Faelden murmur to Gearshift derisively.

"Can you even tell them apart?" Julius asked her, incredulously.

She was about to take another swig but the question made her freeze. Her hand stopped moving half way up to her face.

"No…"

The three men laughed heartily at this. Sol however, did not laugh. He was angry at her for wasting so much time on such a stupid game, for being so casual to reveal it to strangers, and angry at himself, for being the one to instigate it by seeking her out at Nagrand. Besides, didn't she realize she had bounty on her head? He wasn't the only Blood Elf in the establishment, she should have known that another could probably understand. She'd be a marked woman then and there. All they would have to do is wait until she left the city. It was inevitable that it would happen.

"Unbelievable. Well, I wish ya luck on yer quest to find this mysterious Blood Elf," Julius mocked.

"I 'ate 'im so much, I do!" she declared ruefully.

"Why? Why do you hate this guy?" Faelden goaded. "Did he break your heart? Surely it isn't that."

The woman then began to recount a tale that sounded painfully familiar to Sol. Apparently, she was wandering around Winterspring with some of her friends when she ran into a particularly nice Blood Elf who flirted with her. She was young and naive, and he was handsome and debonair. The story practically wrote itself! This was much too delicious to pass up, especially since they could see the end a mile away.

"So it was love! How did I know?" Faelden remarked triumphantly.

"A genius and a poet. I like this guy," Julius remarked.

The woman banged her fist on the table.

"I'll like ta send 'im ta tha next life wit' me own 'ands!"

"It would be fun to see you try," Gearshift said. "But ganking happens to everyone, I wouldn't worry about it too much."

"He was just having some fun! By loitering around, waiting for you to get your revenge, you're only feeding his ego!" Julius declared.

"So 'e doesn't care?" she asked sadly.

"I can guarantee it! Besides do you even know his name? It's not as though you can actually talk to him," Faelden goaded.

Sol began to sip on his chalice. The fact that she was leaving certain things out of tale, even as drunk as she was, spoke of a great deal of her self-control. Surely, she wouldn't be so stupid as to reveal his name.

"'is name was Sol," she replied.

The reaction to the name was instantaneous. Sol nearly choked on his drink. All three laughed so loudly that some of the people around them were beginning to notice.

"What kind of name is that?" Gearshift asked.

"Sol? A fruitcake if I ever heard it. Or maybe a fake name..." Faelden berated.

Sol couldn't stand it anymore. He had to listen to these three brag about doing something he'd done, only to have them mock his name and he was seated right behind them. There was only so much an elf could tolerate.

He stood up immediately and glared at the four seated beside him. After removing his helm, Neiana gasped, sobering up immediately.

"I am Sol!" he declared in an authoritative voice.

The company of three men looked at the elf, then at the woman, to confirm what they thought they had just heard. Even though he spoke in Orchish, to maximize the effect, the name clearly rang out. Her face was all the confirmation they needed. She now stood, her mouth agape, her eyes wide with shock, anger and fascination all at once. He then did something that everyone could understand quite plainly. He removed his right gauntlets and placed it firmly on the table. It was a challenge for a duel.

By this time, every eye in the inn was locked on the men, waiting with expectation for a fight. Half of the tenants were itching to fight the other half, and the elf at the counter became very concerned.

"I will challenge any man here who has dared sullied my name with a fair duel outside the city walls!"

He knew they couldn't understand, so he pointed to the east, which he knew they would understand as "outside."

"What is this?" Faelden asked, ruefully. "We aren't knights."

"Pft, like we're going on a duel with some idiot because we laughed at his name," Gearshift said dismissively.

But the older man was not laughing. He may have been an old lecher, but he was also a season warrior. He'd fought in the Third War, along side High Elves. He understood, even if his young friends did not, that there were certain Blood Elves who knew common precisely because they were High Elves before the schism. And guessing by the Crystalforge Breastplate that he wore, this elf participated in the offensive of Tempest Keep. The item he recognized, even if the others could not, because he'd seen on Kael'thas himself all those years ago. He glanced at the elf, then at the woman, who stood spell-bound, and also surmised that there was more to the tale that she was not letting on, otherwise she would not have been so drawn to him. It would be a safe assumption to assume that was his woman they were trying to soften up for later.

They had laughed at his name, claimed his victory as their own, and had impure designs on his woman. Those were reasons enough for a duel if he ever thought of any. But he also knew that those two would not stand a chance against him, young, strong, and brash as they were. Besides skill, he had of experience that the others did not. He may have looked young, but he was actually seasoned, just as he was.

"Beggin' yer pardon, Sir," he began, as he stood respectfully. "They meant no offense. Please forgive my drunk friends here. They can be a bit rowdy at times. There is no need to disturb this here peaceful city with any duels and such."

He gave him a stiff bow.

"What are you doing, this man can't understand us," Faelden said.

"Pft, let the guards take care of him," Gearshift said with a shrug.

Sol gave the two seated to the right a glance and then he looked up at the old man again, it was then that he recognized him. He grabbed his gauntlet and began to put it on. While he did, he spoke to Julius in Thalassian.

"It's been a while, hasn't it? You're still the same sort of chap you were, old goat. Although I see you've changed your name. Trouble with the law, perhaps, James Shaw?"

Julius' face fell. His eyes now filled with recognition. That face was one he would never forget. There was no denying it was him, even though his previously blond locks were now coal-black, throwing him off the scent at first.

"Having fun at Allerian Stronghold? I heard the Wine there is quite strong," he remarked with a meaningful glance."Also, control your friends," Sol commanded, pointing to the two younger men with amusement, before turning around and strolling away.

"Yes, Sir!" Julius said, without thinking.

The old warrior sank slowly back to his chair, a far away look on his face.

"What happened?" Gearshift asked.

"Soliandrus Lightbringer," Julius replied softly. "Was a lieutenant of the High Elves during the Third War. But he wasn' like the other elves, ya see, no, he liked us human chaps. He'd have a drink with us, gamble, and sing bawdy songs till morning.

We did them wrong ya know, we did. Locked them up for consorting with fell powers as such, at least that was the excuse. But they were desperate, they were. They were hungry and they lost everyin'. I know, because I lost it all too when Loreadon fell. Those were hard times. I know you remember it, Faelden, but those times did not hit ya as hard as it did us. It changes a chap.

That breastplate he wore. I remember it on Kael'thas Sunstrider. He looked so proud as he rode up beside us with his army, going on a mission we all knew was suicide from the start! I remember every detail, I do, and every item that gleamed in the sun, and how proud they looked as they were sent out to die. And Soliandrus, he followed him like all the elves did. It must have hurt to see him as he was so changed in Tempest Keep!"

Gearshift and Faelden were spellbound. They thought Julius was just a fun old guy the'd met at Allerian Stornghold. They had no idea that there was so much hidden behind that weathered face and heavy brow. Then it hit them like a ton of bricks, Sol could understand them, every word. No wonder he challenged them to a duel! Gearshift and Faelden looked at each other and communicated the same thing, _we should watch what we say from now on._

It was then that the three noticed that Neiana was no longer with them.

"How long has she been gone?" Faelden asked curiously.

"Oh, I'd wager she chased right after him," Julius replied with a knowing smile.

Julius would have won the wager if anyone had been there to investigate it. For as soon as Sol turned to go she was at his heels. Knowing that she was chasing after him, he tried to lose her by setting a brisk pace and making several sharp turns into dark, refugee filled alleys. Still she followed him, barely paying attention to any of the hungry stares that followed her as she passed the orphans on by. She may have a poor adventurer, but to them, she was as wealthy as any.

It was in a particularly dark and abandoned alleyway, near the south entrance that he finally stopped walking, and waited for her to pass him by. Quickly as she appeared, he pulled her in the alley and pushed her a against the wall. She glared at him defiantly and shoved his hand away from her arm.

"Sol, you coward! How dare you run from me after all you've done!"

"Listen lady," he interrupted. "You need to stop with this nonsense. As much as my ego was inflated by your little obsession you've got to realize that I've ganked hundreds of people! Do you think you're special? One of a kind? You need to move on…and consider yourself lucky that I did not leave you dead."

"But why? Why did you do it?" she asked.

There was something very innocent that began to creep up in her eyes, which softened them. A hint of familiarity sprung from them. For a moment, a clear pool of water came to mind; a sparkling river in Elwynn Forest, but he banished those thoughts.

Instead, he leaned very close before replying.

"Because I hate every single one of you nasty little traitorous insects! "

But Neiana was not the same she had been before and now that she had him at last, she was regaining her wits.

"And you have the gall to mock me for my single-minded revenge. How dare you stand on your high horse and blame the entire human race for the actions of one man! At least I left the Horde alone! I was perfectly happy to just gather up my plants in peace! But then you came and cured my innocence! Cyrus was right, there is no good in you at all!"

"What do I care about a young woman's supposed innocence? It was bound to have been taken by someone else, if not by me," he mocked.

Neiana gave him a serious, clearheaded look as she glanced up at him.

"Duel me. Let's settle this once and for all. You will feel my hatred when I destroy you," she challenged.

"Duel you? Nonsense. I may make a poor Paladin, not caring for any of that chivalry rubbish, but I am not _that_ bad. You've barely got the gear to kill a single Quill Boar, much less challenge me to a duel. I wouldn't dream of entering such a lopsided fight. It would be beneath me," he hissed.

"Give me three days then. Skinflint and his party should be returned by them," she countered.

"Oh, so you'd sponge off your friends to fight me? Would you tell them, oh foundling princess? Hrm? Would you tell them of that little Game you were playing, while they were off actually working for the Alliance? And what were you expecting for your troubles, a little kiss, perhaps?"

Those words hit her like poisoned barbs. He examined her carefully before continuing. Sol's green eyes became very cold.

"But if you want to die, then I shall oblige. Go ahead and spend whatever good graces you have with them left. Acting like a child when you should be a woman."

"Do you accept challenge?" she asked, ignoring his insults.

"What does it sound like to you? Are you stupid? Or must I spell it out to you plainly, using small words your little human ears can understand."

"Don't get too cocky, elf. I am not the same girl you ganked in Winterspring," she declared.

He shrugged with nonchalance.

"I wouldn't know. After all, I don't remember," he lied. "But if you do think you can take me on one on one, than meet me at the Tuurem Ruins. They should be abandoned by now, don't you think?"

"When?"

"In three days, after your friends arrive and gear you up properly. We will meet by the bridge where the two streams meet, when the night is deepest," he replied. "And don't you even think of backing down. It was you who threw the gauntlet at me, don't forget!"

"I'll be waiting for you, coward. But before you go, I want you to have something."

She reached into her pack and removed two items. One, he recognized as a Diamond Focus Ring. The other, was a Malachite Pendant. Instead of handing them to him, she threw them to the ground. They clinked and clattered as they landed on the stone floor.

"This ring is yours. I don't want your paltry trinkets. And the Malachite Pendant you forgot to take with you when you took everything else from me of value in Winterspring. Sell it and buy yourself a drink, you cur."

With that, she turned from him and walked away, leaving him alone in the darkness.

"Silly woman," he murmured with a smirk.

He bent down to gather the jewels and pocketed the ring. It was the Malachite Pendant that interested him. He remembered her fierceness in Winterspring as she demanded it back, before he blasted her unconscious. At the time, nothing else had mattered to her but that little trinket, it held more valuable to her than her life. And how quickly she'd discarded it now. It saddened him somehow, in a way he couldn't quite place why. Did it replace the loss of innocence that he'd sensed in her when he first saw her, busy with her work in Hillsbrad? No, there was something else there, something that he couldn't quite place. With a troubled mind, he put the item in his pocket and left for the inn.

Because of the influx of adventurers converging in Shattrath, the sign at the inn that read NO VACANCY was unnecessary. Those who trickled by, anxious for an empty space turned away almost immediately. Nearly every inch of the ground was covered with resting bodies, with nothing more than blankets for cover and privacy, besides a curtain that clearly separated the "ladies" from the "gents."

Those packed within were wearing the same dirty, used, rough-for-wear armor they had owned for weeks, maybe even months and the results were offensive. The stench of dirty Orc, elf, Tauren, and Troll was nearly overwhelming. Had their noses not been conditioned by years of spending nights in filthy inns, weeks without changing clothes or proper toilets, they would have probably died from the stench. Still, this inn was by far the cleanest Sol had ever seen.

But as it was, Sol was already accustomed to his fetid fighting friends (to his amazement, the Undead did not stink), so he did not notice the stench as he shuffled his way in through the sleeping bodies and on to his reserved corner.

By now, Bill had returned from his search at the Seer's Library, and found several books to check out for the day. One of them involved a man who believed himself a Knight and went off on a fool's errand with his servant. It was quite intriguing, really. Although he felt quite sad for the deluded man. Mistaking Windmills for giants indeed!

He noticed that Sol was troubled as he went to sit on his bed roll. There was something bothering him. It was then that he noticed that Sol was fiddling with a Malachite Pendant. He was flipping over his fingers like a coin, absentmindedly. Bill remembered something about a Malachite Pendant in Winterspring. He opened up one of his journals, the one that related to the Ganking.

_The woman was so exhausted, that she could no longer stand. As Sol approached her, menacingly, about ready for the kill, she raised one of her hands with some difficulty. Apparently asking for the Malachite Pendant he'd recovered from the snow only moments before. _

_"Such a small, pathetic thing! I have made hundreds of these! And yet you would risk your life for it?" the paladin spat. _

_Although she couldn't understand him, she roared with rage in her uncouth, human tongue. The unintelligible babble could only mean one thing: give me back my pendant! That small, useless item was now the most important thing to her. More important than her life or pride, and the Horde who loomed about her sneered with contempt at her infantile weakness. _

He glanced up at Sol, and saw a faraway look he'd remembered once before, when he'd spoken of Adelle while in his apartment in Undercity.

"If I may intrude on your thoughts, sir, but am I correct in thinking that you've run into the girl?" Bill asked.

Sol merely gave him a sideways glance before replying.

"Perceptive as always, Bill. Indeed I did run into her. She has challenged me to a duel, and has given me this item to sell since I forgot to take it in Winterspring, or so she says."

"Ah," Bill said. "Well, it is odd that she would just throw it away like that, after she tried to hold on to it so tightly in Winterspring."

"Indeed," Sol said, and then he glanced at the jewel that he'd cut those years ago, but still did not recognize it. At that moment, as he saw it reflected in the light, a small voice, a voice almost forgotten, rang in his mind.

_"It's green! Like yer eyes it is!" _

"It can't be!" he murmured.

Those blue eyes, so small and inquisitive, filled with the promise of magic. That dirty brown hair, tousled and heaped on her like a bird's nest. The dirty tanned skin and the ragged clothes, they had little in common with the poised woman he'd met at Hillsbrad. And yet...

He picked up his journal and began flipping through it quickly. Bill noted his change, and put away the book as he observed the elf's odd behavior. Sol went to the beginning of his journal, back before most in Azeroth even knew of their existence.

He came upon an entry, practical and succinct:

_Elwynn Forest, Autumn - Day 13_

_Skinflint. Nina. Peacebloom._

And there, folded between the pages of his journal, was the old, dried flower the girl had given him those years ago.

_"'ere, 'ave this. It's a Peacebloom. Just take that 'n some Silverleaf 'n ya can make a simple potion. If ya ever get 'urt..."_

Neiana had done the same, hadn't she, when he met her the first time in Hillsbrad.

_Hillsbrad Foothills, Spring - Day 41_

_Neiana. Mageroyal. _

There she had offered him a single Mageroyal and Peacebloom, using almost the exact same wording, but without the accent.

_"Take this. If you mix it with that Mageroyal you will get a minor rejuvenation potion. It is easy enough for anyone to do. If you want..." _

Everything odd about her, the accent she would slip into whenever she was emotionally distressed, her affected elvish speech, and even her name, suddenly made sense. Lucilin was right, that was a fake elvish like name, he could plainly see had been derived from her childhood name: Nina. Then there was the Dwarf, Skinflint, who raised her. He'd run into him again in Winterspring. He should have pieced it together then, but so much time had passed, he barely had remembered little Nina.

Faelden's mean spirited remark was also spot on, she _had _been raised by a Dwarf, which is why she fully expected him to gear her once he returned. Like any child, she was leaning on her father when she needed help.

It occurred to him then that the innocence she was talking about was not some metaphor for physical awakening, but a literal break from an ideal she held in her heart. She'd given up on finding him, Autumn, because he, Sol, had poisoned that memory forever. She had tossed the very item that symbolized her childish love for an elf who didn't exist and had unknowingly given it to the very elf who had inspired her in the first place, out of hate.

"Unbelievable, to run into the same girl after all these years," he murmured to himself.

"I beg your pardon?" Bill asked.

"It's nothing. I will be going to sleep now."

"Sir, before you go. You said that you will duel her. When will it be?" he asked.

"In three days, at Tuurem, when the night is deepest," Sol replied.

"Well, for a proper duel, I have read that there is usually a second present, and witnesses. Perhaps, if I may act as your second. It would be a great honor."

Sol smiled as he laid back and crossed his right arm over his eyes, preparing himself to sleep.

"You know, Bill, you make a better Knight than I ever could, but it won't be necessary. This will not be a proper duel," he replied.

With that vague reply, he closed his eyes and went to bed.

**AN:** When I played the game, I was fascinated by the fact that the events of the Third War took place only a decade or so before the timeline in World of Warcraft, and that different elements within the factions had overlapped at some point. This meant that there were war veterans running around. It also meant that there were those who were once friends and comrades in arms who were now enemies.

I know that while playing the game, it seems as though the world is filled with adventurers and the like, but in reality, most people would be regular Joe's living out their lives in Elwynn Forest or Ogrimmar. That would the likelihood of running into an old war buddy much greater. It would also make it more likely that people would run into each other multiple times during the course of the Horde/Alliance lukewarm "war" that is mostly fought by proxy.


	13. Chapter 13 The Face of Love

**Ganked V 2.0**

**Chapter 13 The Face of Love**

The next day, Neiana woke in the busy inn to three women standing by the inn's entrance. Their dark silhouettes casting shadows on the smooth golden walls. She recognized them immediately as Geldie the dwarf, Daela, the elf, and Lorenna, the dirty tramp. Well, that was the assignation Neiana had given her at any rate.

"He said he'd be here," Lorenna said.

"Well, I did see Gearshift near World's End. Maybe you should go talk to him," Daela replied.

"Tsk, I don't know what it is with guys I date having pet gnomes," Lorenna said with a sniff.

"Well, ya better watch..."

"I know! I know!" Lorenna interrupted. "You sound like a broken record."

That is when Geldie turned to Neiana, and noticed she was staring.

"Ah! Ya finally woke up lass! 'Tis nine 'o clock ya know. Ya must-a been spoiled 'ere wit'out a care in tha world," Geldie remarked.

The other two girls turned to her as well.

"Are the rest of them here, yet?" Daela asked.

She looked very pretty in her expertly Moonglade Raiment armor, without the helm. Neiana could see that the uniform had been washed recently. Clearly, there was someone she was hoping to impress.

"No, they'll be here tomorrow," she replied. "And what are you doing here, Lorenna? Have you no shame?" Neiana demanded, glaring at the woman with contempt.

"I can go wherever I please," she replied defiantly.

Geldie noted with concern that Neiana was poorly geared, especially since she'd been there for six months. All of the girls were well geared, most of it from wandering around, delving into deep dungeons. Comparatively, Neiana was absolutely ragged. Neiana deflected the conversation by stating that she'd been spending too much time with the Draenei to have noticed. And where were they? Geldie wanted to know. She frowned disapprovingly when she'd learned from Neiana that they'd gone to Azeroth.

"They 'ave different minds, they do! They 'ave got all tha time in tha world. Makes them thoughtless..."

It was then that two guys entered the Inn, a Rouge and a Warlock. They were the two that Neiana had encountered the day before at World's End, Faelden and Gearshift. She suddenly wanted to escape, since she'd been a little ashamed of her behavior from the day before. Unfortunately, they were headed straight to her party.

"Babe!" Lorenna cried, flying to the elf.

He gave her a tight squeeze and a peck on the lips. As Lorenna raised her arms to hug the tall elf around the neck, Neiana observed that her belly was slightly swollen. Perhaps she'd eaten too much in Netherstorm. From what she remembered at her stay at Winterspring, Goblin food was pretty good.

"Sprockets and Springs! Hey, Faelden, it's the girl from yesterday," Gearshift exclaimed, pointing to her.

The three girls looked at her curious.

"You've met?" Lorenna asked.

"Yesterday, at World's End. She told us quite a tale, didn't she Gearshift," Faelden said.

"It was riveting. Love and betrayal, trust and treachery, the story had it all! We even got challenged to a duel in the end by the very elf she was talking about!" the gnome interjected.

"It was quite exciting. So, Neiana, did you find that elf yesterday after you left?" Faelden teased.

"Well, I...no... I left and came straight here. So where is Julius?" she asked, trying to steer the conversation into safe waters.

"Oh, he's gone back to Allerian Stronghold. That elf was some sort of lieutenant in the Third War and he got all shell shocked over it and left," Gearshift replied dismissively.

"Apparently they knew each other back then, although more in passing," Faelden explained.

To her relief, no one asked for further explanation. Geldie guessed that it had been Sol, but kept her thoughts to herself. That whole day was spent catching up , watching Gearshift dance on tabletops, playing tricks on the Arakkoa who lived in the city, having shooting contests, drinking copious amounts of beer, and even fishing at the very spot where Guntag and Huron had spent the day before. The day went by fast, and Neiana was happy for the company.

They stayed up much later than she was used to. At the end of the night Faelden offered them the rest of Bloodthistle he had left from his time at Allerian Stronghold. Geldie and Daela abstained, giving Neiana the strength to do so. Since she knew that it would increase her magical ability, she was secretly curious to try. She wondered how that extra magic would feel coursing through her veins. It must have been an incredible feeling, even those not magically attuned were aware of the effects.

As Lorenna, Faelden and Gearshift lay on the grass, watching the stars and lost to the world, Neiana was finally able to talk to the other two without interruption.

"Thanks for the note, Geldie. It saved my life," she said.

"Dun mention it! But I suppose it's only right fer me ta say..." Geldie began, but then changed her mind. She didn't want to complicate matters. It was clear to her that this girl was a little lovelorn.

"Mention what, Geldie?" she asked, once she noticed that Geldie's speech had trailed off.

"Oh, nothin', jest ya gotta be careful is all," she said.

The next morning, all six young party goers were suffering from severe headaches and three of them had Bloodthistle withdraw. As they lay sprawled on the floor, they didn't notice Skinflint, Denevell, Cyrus and Wigget enter the Inn. The recent arrivals scanned the surroundings, looking at their passed-out companions, and two extras, with a bit of amusement.

"Oh, look Wigget, you can have a friend at last," Cyrus teased, pointing to the pink haired Gnome who was laying on the floor, a bubble coming out from his nose while he slept.

"Gearshift!? As if! That guy is no good. I remember him from Allerian Stronghold. A lady like me has standards, after all," Wigget retorted.

Skinflint gazed fondly at his adopted daughter. "I got just that thin' fer 'angovers! If that's somethin' we dwarfs know a lot 'bout, besides stone n' steel!"

Cyrus smiled and walked over to Neiana. Lorenna was not even in sight, even though she was obviously lying next to the very elf who had disrupted their lives only four months ago. He bent down beside her and shook her shoulder gently.

"Neiana, wake up," he whispered.

"Hmnn…" she murmured as she turned her head.

"Wake up you silly girl," he pressed.

She opened her eyes and stretched.

"Cyrus? You got here? What time is it?" she asked, her eyes squinting in the light.

"Ten o'clock. Must have been some party last night, huh," he said with grin.

After everyone had woken up, and greetings and introductions were passed, Skinflint served them all some Soothing Turtle Bisque, which he swore would cure any hangover. As they ate, Skinflint and Denevell noted that she was also shabbily equipped, compared to the rest of them. But they didn't concern themselves too much. There were only so many places one could find or buy real good armor. Most of it had to be made, and she hadn't been staying with any good tailors at Telaar.

But there was much to discuss. They had news that would be pertinent to everyone. Cyrus and Wigget waited for one of the senior members to break the news.

"Well, now that we all are rested and fed, we have some news that may be of interest to everyone here," Denevell began.

"Oh? What's that?" Daela asked, as she slurped on her soup.

"We participated in the raid which took down Illidan Stormrage," Denevell said with a hint of pride.

Daela's face beamed with pride. Neiana was shocked. She could have kicked herself for not going with them when she had the chance. She spied Wigget's Shadow Council set with jealousy. It was quite pretty, even if a little disconcerting with that face plastered on the chest.

"But didn't you go to Zangamarsh?" she asked, trying to mask her blah.

"One of Skinflint's associates asked us to join him on his quest," Wigget explained. "Something about a hunter...I don't know. I wasn't listening. I just got these neat robes"

"They look great on you! You should die them pink! Perhaps if you were to give them to me," Gearshift said, reaching for her.

She slapped him on the hand. "Keep your greedy sprockets away from me!"

"_At any rate_, now this is the real news," Skinflint said, trying to distract everyone from the rowdy gnomes. "I 'eard from tha folk at World's End that Northrend is open fer business! On account o' Arthas o' course."

"You sound absolutely devastated," Lorenna remarked.

"Eye, 'tis bad. 'e calls 'imself King n' will brin' back tha Scourge," Skinflint said, trying to sound solemn. But they could all see he was excited at the prospect of exploring and making a fortune. "So we 'ave na choice but ta go! Tomorrow, or as soon as we can, we will go back ta Stormwind n' plan our expedition!"

They all cheered, except for Neiana. Geldie noticed that she was not cheering.

"What's wron' lass? Is thare somethin' tha matter?" Geldie asked.

"Oh, I'm excited about going, it's just that...I have plans for tomorrow. So I can't go tomorrow. But maybe I'll be able to join you later."

"What could possibly take precedent over adventure?" Wigget asked, curiously. She really wanted to know.

"I have a duel scheduled for tomorrow night," Neiana explained.

"A duel," Cyrus asked flatly. "A duel! With the way you're dressed. You couldn't duel a Quill Boar!"

"You are just like him, you know," she yelled without thinking.

Cyrus' eyes narrowed. "Like who?"

"Like the elf we met yesterday! Sol!" Gearshift declared, happy to add to the conversation.

"So you _did_ meet him after he left. You lied, how human," Faelden observed. "You shouldn't have challenged him to such a thing. You will most certainly die."

At that moment, the friendly discussion was over. A silence passed over their parties, and Neiana she felt waves of anger, disappointment, and regret emanating to her from her team. Geldie, once again aware of the social cues, motioned to her team to leave, as she did in Winterspring. They all got the hint but Gearshift, who was intensely curious about what was going to happen, until Geldie glared at him. Then he meekly obeyed. Wigget left as well. Although she'd become part of the group, she realized this was more of a family matter, so she left it at that.

Once it was just Neiana, Cyrus, Skinflint, and Denevell the real fireworks began. Cyrus was incensed that she'd agreed to such a thing in the first place. She countered that she was getting back at him for his behavior at Winterspring. But he told her, flatly, that being concerned about something that happened so long ago was creepy and obsessive. Everyone gets ganked, at least once, she was one of the lucky ones that made it, and that was that. Denevell agreed with Cyrus, and Skinflint was sure that she would be the death of him. And he was too old for this sort of thing. And where were the Draenei that were supposed to be helping her? Azeroth? She's been there for a month? Why didn't she just go to Zangamarsh once they decided to leave for Azeroth?

That question was not suddenly answered, as Neiana sat at the table, trying desperately not to feel like an awkward, naughty little girl.

"Geldie wrote me and told me there was a bounty on our heads, so we had no choice but to come here for sanctuary. Once they got here, they decided to go to Azeroth, and I was left here alone," she finally answered.

The reaction to her admission was not what she expected. Instead of yelling and other explosive behavior, they sat very still and quiet, no one making a sound or moving for several minutes. It wasn't until Cyrus broke the silence that someone spoke.

"And why was there a bounty on your head?" Cyrus asked.

"Because I was hunting Blood Elves with the Draenei and humiliating the corpses by taking their clothes. It was a joke! They were all resurrected! So it's not like anyone got..."

She was going to continue, and say that no one really got hurt, but the faces of the men around her became very grave.

"Nina," Skinflint began, using her childhood name. She knew she was in trouble. "Ya know jest 'ow prideful 'lves can be, especially tha Blood 'lves!"

"You should have just hung a sign that read, 'Please kill me, I want to die,' around your neck, because that's pretty much what you did," Cyrus said.

"At any rate, even if that is true, I need help. I made an agreement," she began, pleading her case.

Everyone knew what she was going to ask. She was going to ask for money to buy gear, but they wouldn't give an inch.

"No! Ya made yer bed! Now ya gotta lay in it!" Skinflint roared.

"But I'm not equipped," she pleaded, desperate.

"Ya shoulda thought o' it before ya went gallivantin' with blue 'lves n' makin' a mockery o' tha Alliance wi' yer silly games!"

She looked at Cyrus. He shook his head. Finally, she glanced at Denevell, pleading for help. He merely got up, turned, and began to walk away.

"You lied to me, Neiana, I'm disappointed," he scolded.

Skinflint followed Denevell with a huff, leaving Cyrus there, still seated beside her.

"Well, I hope you're happy. I hope that you get to spend a lot of quality time with this Sol guy tomorrow," he said. "Where is this taking place, at any rate?"

After she gave him the location and the time, he nodded. "It's a good place. Hardly anyone goes there anymore since all the Lost Ones have been killed off. Good luck trying to find a healer when the night's at its deepest, though."

He patted her on the shoulder and got up and left, leaving her all alone to contemplate her fate. Her head slumped on the table and she sighed.

"I really am going to die tomorrow," she groaned.

With no one to talk to and nothing to do, she left the inn and wandered around Aldor's Rise. She spent most of the day by the crystal clear waters, listening to the birds and watching the clouds go by. As the evening fell, she spied Denevell and Daela walking along the pool, hand in hand. She hid, not wanting to interrupt them.

As it turned out, after they left the meeting, Geldie's team had one of their own. Geldie decided to take her team Stormwind, and from there, take a boat to Northrend. Since her group now comprised of Faelden and Gearshift, she had enough people to travel most of the dangerous areas without having to worry about death. She hoped Lorenna wouldn't tire of him as quickly as she did with Cyrus. Daela was brokenhearted, and begged to stay longer. Geldie relented, and so they delayed their departure for the next morning, instead of that very day as she had originally intended.

Daela wasted no time and spent most of the day with Denevell, walking in the forests and exploring the deep lakes that lay far away, and above the high rises of Terokkar. As evening approached, they returned to Shattrath and spent the last remaining hours together strolling about the beautiful Aldor Rise. Neiana watched as the woman bent down and grazed the surface of the water with her fingers, creating small ripples that interlaced as they traveled away.

"Do you accept my love at last?" Daela asked, still gazing into the still pool.

"I accepted your love in Winterspring," he replied.

"No, that's not what I meant. I mean, do you accept my heart," she pressed. "Do you accept my feelings? What I desire?"

"And what is that, Daela?" he asked.

"My desire is to be with you, and you with me, and none other," she replied evenly.

"I don't know if I can love as I did once, but I promise you that one day we will dance beside the cool waters of Mystral Lake, and bathe in silver light by the moonwells of Ashenvale."

Daela lifted her head and stood, her pale, luminescent eyes earnestly seeking his. Neiana noticed that her teal colored hair was longer now, falling below her shoulders and resting right above her breast. He caressed a strand of her hair, starting from the top of her head to the bottom of the strand, barely skimming her neck and chest as he did. She breathed deeply, affected by that slight touch. He then bent down to kiss her.

Neiana discretely walked away, feeling very cold and empty. She was not a dwarf. She was not like Geldie, who thought of nothing but hunting and steel. No, she was a human, with a human heart. And that which she saw, she desperately wanted to have: a man who would love her and none other.

After Geldie's team was seen off the next morning, Neiana made her way to the Inn and began to plan a way to survive the night. She began to consider different possibilities. An ambush was good, if he didn't see her coming, she could sheep him and then run away, call it a day. Or she could use Frost Nova, freeze him in place, and then blast him with Arcane Missiles, and Fire Blast... no Fire Blast would counter the freeze. She couldn't do that.

She was busy thinking planning an attack, that she became startled when someone poked her on the shoulder.

"Ah!" she yelled and looked up. Then noticed it was Cyrus and frowned. "Oh, it's only you."

"'Only' me, huh? Well, forget it then," he said and began to walk away. He was holding a small package in his right hand.

"Why should I want to have anything to do with you after how mean you were yesterday?" she said haughtily as she went back to work.

Cyrus froze in mind-stride. His face became red with indignation. The man had had about enough. He swiftly pivoted around, facing her, grabbed her left shoulder, and flipped her around, forcing her to face him.

"Mean? We were mean? Well, excuse me, but I don't recall anyone here ever warning you about going off on your own because of danger, have we, oh wait, we did," he began.

"But…" she tried to interrupt but he wouldn't let her.

"And you never listen! Remember when you were a kid? Skinflint warned you about wandering off on your own because of the Defias? What did you do? Did you listen to him? NO! You wandered off on your own. And what happened then?"

"Well, that was different..."

"And then at Hillsbrad, you completely ignored our warnings about going off on your own in the most notorious ganking spot in the Continent. But did you listen? Oh No! Not Queen Neiana. She's too good for advice. She knows better. Well, I had to save your ungrateful mage's little ass then, and you promised, _you promised_, not do it again."

Neiana bit her lip. Cyrus continued, now that he could. He needed to get that weight off his chest.

"But did you keep your promise? No! You ran off, again, not even a year later just because it was that fool elf again! And once again, it was up to us to save you! And now this? You're spoiled, is what."

"I am not spoiled! I barely had anything as a child!" she retorted.

"This has nothing to do with _stuff_. There are different kinds of spoiled, and Skinflint and I, we've been too easy on you. You just know that no matter what you do, how stupid you get, you will always have us to fall back on. Well, what will happen if we aren't there? Then what will you do? Who will be there for you to blue eyes or flash you lovely smile at and come flying to your rescue then!?"

Neiana caught the compliment, but was too indignant to think it was anything but mockery.

"You hate me and you think I'm weak," she said, unable to think of a better retort.

"No, if we thought you weren't any good, we would have just sent you packing to Elwynn Forest. But it's not about weakness, it's about reality. If Skinflint or Denevell, as strong as they are, were to do what you've done, and run off on their own, they'd have been just as stupid!"

By now, Cyrus was yelling, and some of the other people at the Inn could hear the argument. A few of them began to stare. It was upsetting to be called out like that, and her eyes began to water. But she would not cry!

"And you know what, you don't even know how easy you've had it. How is it that you think we found you in time in Winterspring? It's because of that fool elf. I watched him point to Darkwhisper Gorge as he rode by. It got me curious. He didn't even kill you, you know that? Everyone's been saving you! Even the Horde!"

Immediately upon saying that, Cyrus knew he'd made a mistake. Now she would stop listening to him and think only of him.

"Oh by the Light! This whole time I've hated him..." she murmured, stunned.

"Your careless, selfish behavior has put everyone at risk! Including, and especially, you. This is real life, not a fantasy tale where some village girl can just run off on her own for adventure without considering the risks or responsibilities."

"Why would he do that?" she murmured, no longer paying attention.

Cyrus breathed deeply, realizing that he'd lost his audience. It was just as well, it was not as though she ever really looked his way.

"Neiana, listen to me," he whispered coldly. "We've decided that if you survive the night, this will be your last chance. You will not get another. If you ever get into another scrape like this again, we will kick you from the team."

That got her attention. As her blue eyes met his green eyes, so luminescent, they seemed to glow, her heart became arrested. She'd never seen such distance from them before, and it stung her. It was then that she realized that she wanted nothing more than to feel warmth from them once again.

"I won't do this again. I promise."

"I've heard that before," he said, his tone still dripping with disapproval. He took the bag he was holding and flung it to the floor. "Now have this."

She opened the package as she watched him walk away, and gasped at what she saw. Inside, where beautiful, violet, interlaced robes sewn together with silver thread. They were almost an exact replica of Tempest Regalia. Although not as strong as the original robes, they were still an improvement. He had it commissioned months ago, he must have. There was no way those robes would have been made in one day. It must have cost him a good deal of gold to pay for the work and supplies.

At that moment, the full weight of her thoughtlessness and selfishness became glaringly apparent. Here she was, always thinking of herself, rushing headlong into danger, compromising herself and her group, just to follow her whims. And for what? For a charismatic elf? Because of some silly rejection? What did she expect to win from such a paltry fight? What kind of sell sword was she? She would have kicked herself out of the group after Winterspring.

And then came a wave of embarrassment. Staying in Nagrand to fight him. She was a liar and a fool. The reality was that she only wanted to see him again. She wanted him to see her, and be with her, and only her. It was a selfish, impossible dream.

She sighed and she folded the robes neatly upon the bed. If she could, she would have canceled the duel. But she had some honor. A duel among warriors was not to be trifled with. If she did not go, she would be going back on her word. And if she didn't have that, then as an Alliance fighter and mercenary, she had nothing.

Once again, she grimly set herself to die. But this time, it was to salvage whatever she had of her honor, not to sate some thrill seeking impulse.

**AN:** The next chapter will be the confrontation! Thanks for the reviews!


	14. Chapter 14 Love and Honor

**Ganked V 2.0 **

**Chapter 14 Love and Honor**

The third day was spent quickly for Sol. Only Bill knew of the man's duel, as requested, he kept it an absolute secret. Once again he offered his services as a second, to ensure that the proper rules of engagement were observed. And once again, Sol gave him a small, sly smile and told him would not be necessary.

Then he paused, as though considering a possibility.

"Perhaps if you leave here half an hour after the fight is scheduled to begin, then that should be enough time."

"Time for what, sir?" Bill asked, curiously.

"For you to heal me if I were to lose," Sol wryly explained.

"Sir, I doubt..."

"...that I'll lose? But I've already told you. I don't think this will be a proper duel." He smiled before continuing. "This is the first honorable duel I've had since the war days. I suppose I am turning into a real Knight after all, eh, Bill?"

That night, Sol woke up an hour before the scheduled meeting and carefully rose from his bed roll. He crept out of bed, only in a nightshirt and cloth pants, and gave his group one last glance before sneaking out of the inn. He quietly entered the stables and searched the straw covered ground for a hidden bag. He found the bag and removed the armor within. He carefully donned it, sure to clasp it carefully. The darkness made it difficult, even with his sharp elf eyes.

The horse reared his head up and sniffed anxiously. It could sense Sol's tense anticipation. Sol decided not to put on its livery, as it would make too much noise.

"Be patient Bloodfang, I you will get your fight soon enough," the elf said with a wink.

Neiana was in the Tuurem ruins, seated comfortably against one of the thick leather walls of the snug lavender tents that littered the once small village of Lost Ones. A small fire kept her warm as the chill wind descended up on Terokkar Forest. Although she was hoping for company, she didn't exactly expect it. After all, no one in her group approved of her actions. Cyrus told her point blank that she was wasting her time. Denevell observed that revenge only leads to violence. Skinflint was concerned over her sanity. And Wigget the gnome ignored her all together.

As she sat in the darkness, gazing at the dancing crimson flames, she concluded that if things didn't go as planned, she would die. Even with her new attire, even with her fierce determination, she was going to die. What could a mage do against a Paladin, of all classes? Even if he came by himself, she was not going to win.

The forest hushed as the hour approached. She could feel her heart palpitate quickly. What was with this excitement? Was death the only thing that mattered to her? Death approached, but so did one who drew her to it. As her eyes became drawn to the flame, she shuddered, thinking of the fire she'd felt in Nagrand. But there was nothing to do but wait, and she would wait for him and fight.

The fire died down in the tent, and Neiana judged that it was time for the duel. She slowly got up and opened the door to the tent. There, by the bridge on the other side of the stream, was Sol, standing beside Bloodfang, looking a lot more ordinary now without his livery.

They stood apart, gazing at each other silently for a few minutes. To him, it seemed that she was older somehow. Although her robes where not the original, they were expertly replicated. He noted the quality stitch and rich cloth that formed it. The beautiful layered skirt augmented her figure. It must have cost a fortune. Her hair was neatly tied up, and although she did not have a new staff, she held her wizard's staff with pride. She was regal and refined.

"Sol," she said at long last, and bowed. "I am glad you have accepted my challenge. Please prepare yourself."

"Shall we have quarter?" he asked.

"I don't believe it is possible between our factions," she replied.

Unlike duels within faction, where one fought until one winner was determined, between factions, it was always to the death.

"Perhaps we can make an exception," he said. "Judging from the quality of your new garments, it is clear to me that you are loved."

She shook her head."I cannot allow it. We must fight to the death, or else my word has no honor."

They bowed to each other, as was customary for an official duel. Then he backed up ten paces. She understood that he was inviting her to cross the bridge before the start, so they would fight on even grounds. She did so, and then they both turned parallel to the stream, standing about ten paces away from each other. He unsheathed his sword, and she prepared her first spell.

He prepared to bauble. No sooner had he opened his mouth that four things happened at once. First, his speech became a muddle of curses and demonic grunts. Then a young, auburn haired man, a warrior, charged from the shadows, placing himself between the two and cast upon him such a blow that Sol became stunned and could not move.

The giant claws of a panther, raked his back so deeply tore flesh from his bone. Skinflint nearly cut Sol in half with the swing of his axe, and Sol felt all of his mana sucked away. No doubt a warlock was hidden in the shadows. He could not heal.

The last blow was dealt by Cyrus, who stabbed the near unconscious elf through the chest and Sol collapsed to his knees before falling to his face.

Wigget, being a Warlock, enjoyed the carnage.

"Quick! Check his side packs! There should be some healing potions!"

Denevell gathered the packs with his great maw and pulled them. He resumed his elven form and looked down at him with contempt. Cyrus and Skinflint used Sol's tunic to clean their blades as Wigget watched callously from atop her Voidwalker, LubLub.

"Well, don't you want the last blow?" Cyrus asked.

"I don't think he needs it," Neiana replied, stunned.

She had not planned this at all.

"You robbed me of my duel!" she cried with indignation.

"Can it sister, he betrayed you and now you've done the same. You're even," Wigget declared. "We aren't Knights. We're mercs!"

After the kill, and the body was robbed of its loot, a small argument erupted over what to do next.

Cyrus wanted to stay and kill the rest of his group, if and when they arrived. Skinflint wanted to leave. Denevell and Wigget were equally divided. The elf wanted to go back to Shattrath and rest for the trip to Azeroth the next day, while Wigget wanted to kill more people.

"I canno' believe I'm agreein' wi' th' elf!" Skinflint declared.

"Cyrus, you must see reason. There is no motive to fight now that Neiana's target has been neutralized. It was a dishonorable fight..." Denevell explained.

"Spindles and bricks! You liked killing him! I could tell! Why not take the others as well?" Wigget piped up.

"Shet yer trap ya crazy gnome! We 'ave enough time wi' ye dancin' around all 'ver Shat and causin' all sorts a' trouble wi'out ye deprivin' me o' sleep as well!"

"Ah! Who needs sleep? I don't!" Wigget said with a huff.

"The reason I think we should take care of the rest is simply this: they will seek revenge," Cyrus explained.

Neiana did not pay attention to the banter. Instead, she kept her eyes on the body. Luckily, no one noticed her or the corpse. So any discoveries made, like Sol actually being alive, would go unregistered.

Suddenly, Neiana felt it necessary to participate.

"Let's go back. It's late and we prepare for the journey tomorrow. Besides, we don't have quarrel with _them._"

Cyrus, despite his previous protests, immediately conceded.

The Alliance group were only just outside of Tuurem when the trip was abruptly stopped with Neiana's gasp.

"Wha' is it now?" Skinflint asked.

It took them long enough to decide to leave. He did not want something else to interrupt his way to bed.

"I forgot something! I need to go back!"

Cyrus sighed. "I will go with you in case..."

"No need. Let me go alone. I will meet you in Shattrath shortly," she interrupted.

She gave him a meaningful glance, and he understood at once. Sol wasn't dead. It was only right that she should go back to save his life, as he had done in Winterspring. He nodded to Neiana, communicating his agreement.

"Let's just let her go," Wigget said. "I'm getting hungry."

"Fine, we will meet at the Inn," he said evenly before turning to Wigget. "Hungry? Do you have any idea of how late it is?"

She began to turn when Denevell gave her one parting command.

"Don't stay too long. Be careful."

Neiana, gave him a swift glance and replied with a grin. "Please. It's impossible to die twice."

She turned back and spurred her horse on, wanting to appear as nonchalant as possible while hurrying as quickly as she could. Sol's ganking had been savage and cruel. It left her with little satisfaction. There was something very unfair about the incident, something very bloodthirsty that she didn't like. And she felt robbed of her duel. She had hoped to prove her strength to him, and to the others. Instead, they had saved her once again, making her feel small.

As she continued on, she began to hurry her pace. Sol was left alone and she doubted he told anyone where he was going. He was much too proud for that. The window of resuscitation, for any class, was six minutes. After six minutes, a corpse could no longer be restored to life no matter how powerful a Priest, Paladin, Druid, or Shaman he may be. If he died, she was now a murderer.

When she arrived, she jumped down from Chesse and rushed to his fallen body. Neiana grasped her side. There, in her side pack, she carried bandages and healing potions. She prayed it wasn't too late. She checked his vitals and was satisfied. Although irregular and very shallow, a heartbeat was present.

She removed a bottle from her side pack and uncorked it.

She flipped him over gently, careful not to bend his spinal cord, least he become even more injured and die. With a steady hand, she tipped the bottle, touching its edge with his lips. They were now bloody and ugly with gore.

Red liquid, which glowed even in the darkness, slowly poured into his mouth from the crystal flask. She closed his mouth, hoping that his swallowing instinct was intact. A moment later, his more serious wounds began to glow and the healing process began. The deep gashes against his lungs and liver, the most serious wounds, closed. She could feel his back muscles magically restore, close over the bones, and even grow skin.

He gasped, as though taking his first breath.

She gathered his now tattered cloak, bundled it up, and placed it on the ground. It would be his pillow. Although healed enough now that he would survive the night, he was still very weak. He had lost a great deal of blood. There was no question, however, that he would be found. She removed her cloak. It would serve as his blanket, but she did not cover him yet. Instead, removed his plate armor, carefully as she could, and cut off his bloodied shirt and discarded it, leaving his torso bare. She patched up the rest of his wounds, the ones that the potion did not close, with bandages and cleaned off his face, chest, and arms with a moist bandage.

Before leaving she stroked his hair gently, something she had wanted to do when they first met in Hillsbrad Foothills.

"I'm sorry about this. You betrayed me, ganked me, but left me alive. I guess now we're even."

She rose to leave.

"Nina."

His voice was quiet and distant, and yet the name, rang clear. Neiana froze in place, her hands shaking. She turned back and assailed the fallen elf. His eyes were closed. He was unconscious. Why had he spoken her name? It was a name she hadn't used in years. The only Blood Elf...

She looked at him carefully, and imagined his hair longer, and his pale skin tanned. And then his features, so familiar, became the elf who saved her those years ago. It was unbelievable! They couldn't be the same elf! But she had never told him her childhood name. How could he have known?

Then her eyes widened in horror as a sudden realization began to sink in.

"No!"

She covered her mouth with her hands.

"It can't be! It can't!"

And yet she could not ignore how close they looked to each other, or how he knew her name. Could it be the reason that she had been drawn to him in the first place was because he reminded her of that man? But they all looked the same to her! Still, there was something unique in his manner that set him apart from other Blood Elves. Was it his arrogance? No, they were all arrogant. His vanity? No, they were all vain as well.

Neiana sighed as she gazed at his unconscious form, her view blurred with tears. What did it matter? He was who he was. What a strange thing it was that the elf she hated for so long and the elf she loved were the same one!

"I guess I misjudged you. You were neither a hero nor a villain. What you are is a very selfish elf who does things when they are convenient to him. It wasn't convenient to kill me, so you did not."

From her herbal pouch she removed a bundle of Dreamfoil. It had taken months to gather, as they were rare and coveted. They still glowed, even after all that time, and she laid them at his side. Perhaps he remembered the Peacebloom she offered and this will bring her to mind.

"If you take this Dreamfoil, and mix it with Elemental Fire, you can make a protection potion. Perhaps not a simple as the others, but you may still manage it."

Again she rose to leave and began to walk away, but this time, what stopped her was a tug on her hemline.

She glanced behind and saw the man she almost killed, shirtless, smirking, and very much alive.

"As I told you back in Hillsbrad, I am not an Alchemist," he teased.

"What?" she asked, confused. "But you were unconscious."

"I healed myself a little after your group left. I was conscious enough when you returned."

She glared at him.

"What?!"

He shrugged before replying.

"I am a Paladin. Healing is what we do."

"WHAT?! You made me say all those things! You could hear me the whole time!? You let me bandage you and take off your mail and your shirt and use my healing potion?! You fiend! "

He laughed at her, but it wasn't malicious. It was a happy laugh, one filled with glee and mischief.

"Why, yes. It was quite sweet you know...hold on..." he extended his hand and a faint, golden light appeared, enveloping his body briefly, before fading away. "There now, all finished."

He stood to meet her, quite easily. She merely stared at him, indignant.

"That was quite good, you know. That's one of the best gankings that's happened to me in a long time," he mused.

"But...we were going to duel! I wanted...wait! So you called my name on purpose? How long have you known?" she stammered.

He hushed her with a finger to his lips.

"One question at a time. I only remembered after you gave me the Malachite Pendant, and I went to the Inn and thought of it for a bit. Yes, I whispered your true name so that you would figure it out. And I knew we weren't going to duel. You are entirely too spoiled," he replied with a smile. "I took a little gamble. I figured you'd be back to save me. And here you are. I guess I won that bet."

Then his smile faded a little, she noticed. His eyes communicated regret and a little jealously. She couldn't understand what that meant.

"As I said, you are very much loved. They would not let you die, especially if it meant getting a Horde elf in the process."

"What if they hadn't come? What if your gamble had lost?"

Sol shrugged a bit as he seethed his sword. "Well, I would have dueled you, but I wouldn't have killed you. And, I don't think you would have killed me. Don't be so quick to underestimate yourself, Nina, you're not weak."

"Sol," she began. "You told me in the woods that your name was Autumn. Is that your name?"

"My name is Soliandrus Autumn Lightbringer," he replied.

Then he alarmed her by approaching her with an earnest and hungry look that made the pit of her stomach turn. He was shirtless; his taunt chest was covered only by meager bandages. She remembered the way he kissed her in Nagrand and blushed.

"That's a nice name," she said nervously, backing away and looking at the ground shyly.

"Are you sure? Aren't you going to call me a fiend and cur?" he teased as he inched forward.

She moved back and then, to her alarm, felt the cool, smooth surface of a leather wall right behind her. There was nowhere else to go, and he continued to approach until he was only inches away, his right hand resting on a beam right above her shoulder. He leaned forward, ever so slightly.

"You are a fiend and cur. And I hate you," she whispered with a faltering voice.

"Of course you do," he agreed with a smirk.

He then lifted her head with his left hand, yet her eyes remained downcast. Her long brown lashes veiled them, touching her smooth cheeks. Once again, he felt the fires that had so inflamed him Nagrand. But he needed to see her eyes.

"Look at me, Nina," he softly commanded

She lifted her eyes. Those beautiful deep blue eyes communicated exactly what he had hoped to see. They were lustrous and welcoming. He could wait no longer, and bent to kiss her.

**AN:** I hope this is a satisfactory chapter. Thanks for the favorites and reviews.


	15. Chapter 15 To the North

**Ganked V 2.0 **

**Chapter 15 To the North**

A quarter after the hour, Bill woke up and left the Inn, prepared to go Tuurem after the fight as instructed. He was not as quiet as Sol, as he was not used to being stealthy, and his creaking bones were not exactly lubricated. Although he wasn't particularly loud, he did alert one person in the Inn of his parting. Lucilin, always a light sleeper, woke up and silently watched Bill as he stalked out to the darkness.

It was as he began to ready his Skeletal Horse, he unraveled the reason for Sol's strange behavior. There was a purpose for this meeting, and it wasn't a duel. He wasn't sure if the woman in question, the human Neiana, had challenged him earnestly, but he instinctively knew that Sol had chosen the time and place specifically to avoid being seen and interrupted. This wasn't going to be a regular duel, indeed! And why had he been instructed to leave Shattrath half an hour after the fight was scheduled to occur? Why to give them time, and to shut him up. Sol probably figured out that if he did not relent and accept Bill's assistance, Bill would have gone to the rest of the team out of concern. His assumption had been correct!

This fit with all the stories he'd read about forbidden love. It reminded of him a certain illicit affair between a King's consort and his favorite Knight. They had chosen to meet in the forest darkness as well, but that ended poorly.

He smiled at himself. If he still thought of it as an experiment, he would have considered it a success. Love had indeed sprouted, but he was no longer as cold as he had been. Sol's feelings had reached out to him, and his frozen, Undead heart had almost thawed. He remembered what it was like to live. And how he had loved! But he would not dwell too much on such things, for he would fall into despair.

So he decided that instead of going exactly half an hour after the fight, that he would linger on a while and let Sol have as much time as he needed with his beloved.

Meanwhile, at the Inn, Lucilin was becoming concerned. At first, she didn't pay too much attention to Bill's wanderings. What did it matter to her if that odd Forsaken were to go off somewhere in the middle of the night? But it wasn't long before she saw that Sol's bedroll beside hers was empty.

She touched the thin mattress, and found it cold. He'd been gone for a while!

This wasn't like him. Then she considered it carefully and changed her mind. No, Sol would certainly go off on his own if he wanted to, but he wouldn't be so foolish as to do it in the middle of the night.

She stood and approached Guntag. The giant green Orc was slouched against the forest green walls of the Scryer's establishment. His head hung on his chest while and his hands were crossed, as he snored loudly. She poked him on the shoulder, hoping to wake him gently.

"Guntag."

He swatted at her hand, as though chasing away a bug."...Gub gub..."

"Guntag!"

He woke up and roared. "What is it, elf woman!"

"Can you locate Sol anywhere? He left an hour ago, at least!"

The Orc sighed with exasperation as he closed his eyes and willed his mind to focus on humanoids. Many small dots suddenly appeared within his field of view. Names hung about those spirits, vaguely shadowing their master. But Sol's spirit was nowhere to be sensed.

"He is not in the area."

"How about Bill? I watched him leave the Inn a few minutes ago."

"Hrm," Guntag murmured. "He is at the stables."

"Then let's search the rest of the city! And if not, we have to go into the woods."

"He'll be back," Guntag murmured.

"How do you know? Maybe he's hurt or dying!"

"Fine...up, GulbGlug. Time to hunt."

The large spider hissed as she sat up on her hind legs and stretched lazily. Meanwhile, Lucilin wondered why Sol was missing and no one seemed to care. GulbGlug noticed her worry stroked her hand with one of her long, green furry legs.

By this time Huron and other mates at the Inn were roused by the noise. A few adventurers were grumbling around them, annoyed at being disturbed.

"What is going on?" the large Shaman demanded.

"Sol is missing," Lucilin explained. "We're going to search for him. He shouldn't be wandering around at night on his own. He should know this! That bastard!"

Huron and Guntag glanced at each other before the Tauren expressed what was in both their minds in Taur-ahe.

"He has gone to be with the human woman, does she not see it?"

"Hrm. Apparently not," Guntag replied in the same language.

"HEY! I can't understand you guys. I don't speak Cow!" Lucilin exclaimed loudly.

A few of the inn's guests had enough, and the insult brought about a certain seething resentment among the Horde that had been bubbling beneath the surface out to the open. How dare these elves, these upstarts, call the great Tauren cows! A few Trolls, Orcs, and Tauren that were in hearing distance suddenly stood up at once and loudly demanded some sort of retribution. The elves, seeing a fellow elf, a female at that, in danger, were alerted and rose up, ready to defend her.

The whole Inn became roused with angry words and threats between the races, screaming obscenities, pushing and shoving. The small Inn was about to explode with violence, and Guntag and Huron were stuck in the middle, torn between loyalty to their race and the friendship with their companion. As they were surrounded with angry faces, a troll spit in Lucilin's direction. She was about to unsheathed her dagger and stab him in the eye, when the Scryer in charge of the Inn quickly intervened. She shoved her way into the throng, and along with some Scryer guards, finally quieted the rabble.

"What is this nonsense?" She demanded after the crowd was controlled. "This is a place of peace. Who started this riot?"

All fingers pointed to the three companions standing in the middle of the room. She glared at them for a second before issuing a single command.

"OUT!"

A few minutes later, Lucilin, Guntag, and Huron were in the Scryer's Terrace, their things littered about their feet. They had been given ten minutes to pack, saddle their mounts, and leave the Terrace. They were not allowed back.

"Do you know how long it has taken me to get reputation with them, Lucilin!?" Guntag roared.

"Well, you didn't have to come with me," she snapped.

"All of this because of that damned elf," Huron grumbled. "And you too, Lucilin. You should know better than to spout off at the mouth with everyone around."

"I meant nothing by it!" she yelled.

"Not everyone knows of your salty tongue," Guntag snapped.

At that moment, Bill was leaving the stable, leading his horse by the bridle, and completely unaware of anything that had happened. When he noticed his belongings scattered on the Terrace, he glanced at his party accusingly.

"Why on earth are my scribe's items all over the floor?" he demanded.

Then he noticed that everyone else's things were similarly piled, with bedrolls scattered flat on the ground and armor in half hazard piles.

"What on earth happened here?" he asked.

Huron was the one to explain, which he did with some relish.

"This elf maid decided to call me a cow. She nearly started a riot, which lead us to be thrown out of the Scryer's Terrace for good."

Bill's empty sockets glared at Lucilin for a second, before he began to gather up his things.

"Well, we may as well gather up our things and go."

It took more than ten minutes for them to pack up everything, saddle their mounts, and leave the Scryer's Terrace, all while the guards watched their every move. While they were preparing to go, Lucilin managed to ask if he knew of Sol's whereabouts. Bill, not feeling generous, decided to lie on Sol's behalf. He explained to her that he had no idea where Sol had gone. As for him, he'd decided to take a stroll along the city since he couldn't sleep, which is why he was up and about.

With nowhere to go and nothing else to do, they left the Scryer's Terrace, entered the Lower City, and then out to Terokkar Forest, in search for their last companion. What made it difficult was that Huron, also not feeling generous after being woken up and kicked out of the Inn, was in no mood to help the elf on their wild goose chase. He stated, quite simply, that Far Sight didn't work very well at night so they would just have to make due with Guntag's humanoid sensing.

An hour later, Lucillin and her rag-tag group of annoyed Hordelings were still searching about Terokkar forest for their wayward elf. He was not to be found at the Cenarion Thicket, the lake, the Barren Hills, or Razorthorn Ridge. They were about to head for Tuurem, when Guntag caught Sol's presence on the road, leaving for Tuurem and heading for Shattrath.

"I found him!"

"Where? How is he?" she asked.

"I don't know. My radar doesn't give me stats you know. Come on. Follow me. He isn't far."

Lucilin sighed as she spurred her horse to follow.

"Fine! Let's go meet him," she grumbled.

"And how do you propose that you explain to him our current predicament?" Bill quipped.

"Oh?"

"Why, yes, you realize that he still has his Flying Mount up at the Scryer's Terrace. None of us is his master. How do you think he'll react to the fact that he can't see it ever again?"

"That's nonsense!" she shot back.

"No it's not," Huron interjected. "They know he's part of the group. If we've been kicked from the Terrace, then so has he. That was a lot of gold you just lost him, Lucilin."

She was startled when someone laughed behind her.

"It's not as though I could fly it about Azeroth anyway. Let them keep it!"

She turned to the voice. It was Sol, who seemed unusually chipper.

"What? When did we catch up to him?"

"As soon as Bill mentioned the lost Flyer," Guntag replied. "Now, I hope you had fun, Sol! Lucilin had us looking all over for you. It was a pain my green posterior!"

"Why Guntag! I thought you were an Orc. Why say posterior when you can spend fewer brain cells simply saying 'butt?'" Sol asked.

Guntag glared at the arrogant elf. "One of these days, Sol. One of these days!...wham...bam...I'll bash you on the head and feed you to the trolls!"

The lighthearted threat was met with a hearty laugh, another indication to Lucilin that something was amiss.

"What were you doing?" Lucilin asked, curiously. "Your armor is torn! Your precious breast-plate is bent!"

Bill, Sol, and Huron glanced around awkwardly, not knowing what to say.

"What was it?" she demanded, becoming suspicious.

"It was a duel," Sol replied after a pause, clearing his throat nervously.

"A duel? At night? What kind of duels are fought in the middle of the night?" she asked incredulously.

"The ones that involve no one else," he replied evenly. "At any rate, we were leaving tomorrow for Azeroth. Northrend is now open and we should make preparations as soon as possible. The first to go will gain the most, so the loss of Scryer's Inn is not as great as it seems."

"We should sleep under the stars tonight, in the Lower Commons" Huron said. "I would not mind it."

"It would be a welcome change after all that stench," Guntag affirmed.

"Well, at least I won't have to return the books I borrowed from the Library," Bill remarked with satisfaction.

A few minutes later, which were spent in merciful silence, Lucilin noticed that Sol slowed his pace and hung back until he lagged behind. Curious, she turned back and found he had stopped and was now looking behind them.

"What are you looking at?" She asked.

"Oh. Nothing...I..."

"He must have noticed the Alliance traveling along this road, twenty yards back," Guntag interrupted.

"Is it an ambush, Guntag?" she asked.

"No, it's only one person so there is no danger."

"Let's kill it then!" Lucilin exclaimed.

"We're tired," Guntag replied.

"Is there anyone else?" Sol asked.

"No, she is the only one traveling in this vicinity, Alliance...or Horde."

Was it her imagination? It seemed the news relived him. Bill gave Sol a knowing glance, but said nothing. Then her hear heart sank as a tinny smile tapered the corner of the elf's lips. That is when she realized what everyone in the group, including Guntag's hairy spider, had known the entire time. What sort of duels are fought in the middle of the night indeed!

Lucilin felt very foolish. Shattered pride hurts more than any broken heart, and at that moment, she was assailed with both feelings. She was utterly rejected now. Whatever hope she had that he would see her as anything but a girl disappeared.

"You're right, Guntag. We have a long way to go tomorrow. I am a little tired myself."

She was a Blood Elf, born and raised. Blood Elf women were not weak, they did not show their emotions, and neither would she.

As they were heading back to Shattrath, Guntag chuckled to himself.

"What kind of duels are fought in the middle of the night, huh. Haha! Sol, you sly dog," he said under his breath.

Before going to bed, as they camped out with the refugees in the Lower Commons, Huron set Sol aside. There was something he needed to discuss with him before they left.

"Sol, I am willing to travel with you to Northrend if you answer my questions to my satisfaction. As you already know, I don't trust you."

"I understand," Sol replied cautiously. "But be quick. In order for us to leave on time, we must be early and refreshed."

"This will not take long," the large Tauren said.

Sol sighed wearily as he laid upon his mat.

"Well, then, ask away."

"You gave Aeman a note, when you were selling him Bloodthistle. What was that note about?"

"Oh, well, Aeman is my cousin, and he heard rumors that certain members of my family that I had thought dead may have fled from Lordaeron, instead of going to Quel'Thalas during the war," he replied.

"I see. So the note contained information that would help with the search?"

"You got it. Apparently my grandchildren were seen with my ex-wife, fleeing south. It makes sense. They were still young. My daughter, Ildri, would not have wanted them to die with her. He is hiring some of the Alliance Farstriders to help with the search, with my money, naturally."

"Hrm," Huron growled. "It is an earnest search, and I wish it well. Although I wonder what could be done if you were to find them. After all, they would be Alliance."

Sol sighed deeply, and regretfully.

"That's true. It would be difficult. But perhaps...I could find a way."

"With the human woman?" Huron asked.

Sol gave the Tauren a sharp glance before replying. "Oh? And did you see that too?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I was asleep. But it does not take a fool to figure it out. We even lengthened the search to keep Lucilin from discovering you. "

"Much appreciated," Sol remarked. "So, will you come with me? You are a most competent Shaman and it would be a pity to lose you."

"Yes. You have some honor, as Guntag said. But, hrm, you must know in your heart that this love with that human woman cannot last. Even if by some measure you are happy, the happiness will not transfer over to your children, who will be born torn in two by race and faction."

Sol's face hardened after the Tauren spoke, and his eyes donned a glossy sheen. There was little they communicated to the keen Shaman.

"Thank you, Huron. I will take what you said into consideration."

With that, Sol closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep. There was much to prepare before their trip, and he could not allow any troubled thoughts hamper his rest.

No one knew when Neiana arrived at Aldor's Rise that night but Cyrus, who stayed up waiting for her. He laid in bed, unable to sleep, as the hour ticked on by. By then, he had surmised the reason for the late duel as well as her return to Sol, but it was only when she entered the dark, silent inn, that he discovered the reason for his troubled heart.

He said nothing as he watched her enter the room, her hair now hung loose around her shoulders. A small smile touched her lips as she quietly rushed to the curtains that were hung around her bedroll. She paused as she went to enter her makeshift room, and then glanced around before drawing the curtain and slipping in. Clutched in her small hand was something that glimmered green in the dim light.

Cyrus turned from her, to his side, as he heard the rustling of her clothes as she began to change to her night-gown. He tried to ignore it, as he tried to ignore the sudden realization of his own feelings. Although it was true that he'd always find her a little attractive, now he knew for certain that he loved her. And the fact that she would never see him as anything but a brother, as she chased around a bad idea, crushed him.

The next morning, they rose early and left for Stormwind. After two weeks of planning and supply gathering, they headed for Northrend. Neiana noticed that Cyrus was a little morose during the trip, but she thought it best to leave him alone.

Instead her eyes were fixed on the North as they traveled on. Her mind locked on the new land, and the promises that came with it. They were warm promises, whispered to her in the sweetest moments. In her hand, she bore the green Malachite Pendant that he returned to her, as the seal of his promise.

She closed her eyes as the ship bobbed as weaved through rolling waves. Sea foam nipped at her cheeks as the wind spurred them on. There in the vast land of snow and frozen earth, they would build their life.

**AN:** The story is almost at an end! Thanks for the reviews/faves.


	16. Chapter 16 The Second Path

**Chapter 16 The Second Path**

The currents favored the Icebreaker as it traveled the sea between Menethil Harbor and Valiance Keep that crisp Autumn, seen as a good omen by the stout dwarf that lead the Alliance Expedition to Northrend.

Although not known for their seafaring ways, Skinflint the Dwarf was familiar enough with travel and sailing to have become accustomed to it. He even enjoyed the trips, not afraid of water and wetness, or getting sick as was common with members of his race. He even adopted many of the superstitions held by the sailors. His son, however, was not as adapted, and spent most of the week-long journey in his quarters, green in the face. Although Skinflint assessed correctly that there was more to his sickness than just physical aliment, there was little he could do. Cyrus stubbornly refused any treatments, particularly from Neiana. This stubbornness reminded her of his time in Winterspring; how he refused to take any of her precious potions to cure his hangover. This, of course, brought to mind a certain Blood Elf, which only increased her anticipation as they traveled North.

It wasn't until the last day of the trip that Cyrus was able to walk on the deck without a problem, but by then Neiana had lost all interest in him. She was also aware that there was something troubling him, but had decided that it had nothing to do with her. As they looked over the port bow to the looming shore, the five companions were filled with mixed emotions.

"It's been a fine trip, eh Denevell," Skinflint remarked. "It's a good omen, I wager."

"Indeed, if one considers such things, then we shall have a fortuitous expedition," Denevell agreed, placidly masking his own anticipation that had nothing to do with fortunes to be made.

As they entered the port, it became apparent that not everything would go as smoothly as they had hoped. For on the pier stood three female companions, instantly recognizable. It wasn't their presence that made them pause, it was the state of a very obviously pregnant Lorenna. Four of the Alliance companions immediately glanced at Cyrus, whose tanned face turned a distinct shade of white.

"By the Light!" he whispered. "And here I thought we had taken every precaution!"

"Now ye've done it! Ya boy shoulda listened ta my Geldie, but ya jest 'ad ta go on bein' a fool!" Skinflint roared.

But the ever practical Wigget had her own perspective.

"You aren't married. The law clearly states that all bastard children are the responsibility of their mother. You don't have to pay a cent. Just have Neiana Portal her to Stormwind."

Neiana nodded in agreement.

"That is true, Cyrus. She should have enough money saved from all her expeditions that you shouldn't have any financial obligations. It's her fault for not being careful, after all," she explained.

Cyrus did not speak, but rather gave her such a look of incredulity, that she became aware of her own hypocrisy and flushed pink.

After landing and a few muted greetings, Cyrus and Lorenna stood back and held a private conversation while the rest of the hung back, in a group.

"What 'appened ta that 'fl n' crazy gnome?" Skinflint asked Geldie.

"Ah they left as soon as they saw what we did," she replied derisively, gesturing to her belly.

"Are ya sure that 'e's tha father?" Skinflint asked.

"Tha timin' is right, I recon. But we'll see when it get' s 'ere."

Denevell had other concerns, and he voiced them.

"Now that there will be only two of you traveling, perhaps you can join us. Seven is not too great a number for a party."

"That's right," Daela agreed. "We could pool our resources together and it won't be so hard."

But the two dwarves, being completely clueless about love, disagreed. While they were talking, Neiana was taking in her surroundings. Although she had been to grander cities, Valiance Keep was still impressive. Its skyline was completely dominated with the keep, which was built in stout human fashion. Thick gray stone walls were held with wooden beams, topped with a glossy, blue tile roof. The pier was noisy with the hustle and bustle of new arrivals and goods, being sent to and from the newly connected southern continents. The pungent smell of fish mixed with sea and rum wafted to her with every breeze. There was something chilly about the wind, and crisp. It was dry sort of cold, one that she hadn't experienced in Winterpsring. She knew at once that her robes, as beautiful as they were, were insufficient for a prolonged stay.

Meanwhile, Cyrus was convening with Lorenna to the side.

"It reminds me of Theramore," he mused. "But colder..."

"Yes," Lorenna agreed. She seemed a little dejected, and quickly returned their conversation to the previous subject. "I should have listened to Geldie, I guess. But this isn't so bad. I was thinking of hanging up my spurs anyway. I miss Redridge Mountains. I have enough saved now that I can build a house by the lake, like I always wanted."

"Yes, and now with most of the Gnolls killed off and the Blackrock orcs are held at bay, it is relatively safe," he agreed.

"Listen, perhaps if you can, you may come visit," she offered cautiously.

Cyrus shrugged, before replying. "If it is financial assistance you require, I will not hesitate to give it once the child is born and I am satisfied that he is indeed mine. But as for marriage, that is out of the question. Love was never part of the equation between us. You have known that from the start."

She smiled weakly before replying.

"Although you did once."

"And you cured me of that pretty quickly," he retorted.

She sighed and nodded resolutely. Undoubtedly, there would be those who would talk once she reached Redridge Mountains, but there was little she could do.

"You have your revenge at last?" she asked snidely.

"Revenge? I am not bitter," he replied. "You helped me grow. If anything, I must thank you. I do think that you will do well with this child, regardless of whether or not it is mine."

After she left to Stormwind, taking her packs and her horses with her to an uncertain future, the group decided to meet at the Inn to decide on what to do. Once again, the elves suggested they join both groups. Neiana agreed. Everyone else, however, did not. Skinflint was the most adamant, claiming that the land was too harsh for such a large troop. Logistics were key, and it would be best to split up the group into two smaller ones. Cyrus immediately offered to go with Geldie. Wigget assumed she would be joining them, but Cyrus had other plans.

"You watch Neiana for me. Make sure she doesn't wander off on her own," he declared playfully.

"I can watch myself, thank you," Neiana replied with mock outrage.

"No yer not! Yer not saddlin' me wit' yer crazy gnome!" Skinflint roared, but to no avail, she was coming with them.

"As a proud member of the House of Spindleswift, you have my word of honor," she whispered back with a wink.

Although she'd toned down her claims to nobility around Skinflint, she still put on airs around Cyrus, which was an endless source of amusement.

So it was that Skinflint, Denevell, and Neiana traveled North and explored Borean Tundra, with Wigget joining them, much to Skinflint's annoyance. Cyrus and the two ladies went West, to Howling Fjord. They were to meet again in Dalaran in six months, with tales and gold, so it was hoped.

During their travels, Denevell noticed something the others did not. While on the road, her gaze was glued to the horizon. If ever they encountered a male blood elf, her eyes would become lit with hope for a brief moment before dulling with telling disappointment.

Three months after their arrival, they found themselves helping the unfortunate gnomes at Fizkrank Airstrip. Since their beds in the inn were much too small for them to use, they opted to make a small encampment at the outskirts, near the airstrip. Wigget decided she would spend her time in the Inn. Not that anyone minded, a little of gnome went a long way.

Danevell and Skinflint sat by the campfire. Two tents, one for Neiana and their things and the other was for them, were recently put up behind them. Their mounts were tied to wooden stakes between the two tents. Borean Muskrat on-a-stick was the menu.

The wind howled and roared, muffling the sounds of progress and wayward robots that came from the gnome encampment. The sun was at its last waning moments, and the two men were discussing the allocation of missions and loot.

"Why isn't Neiana here?" Denevell asked.

"She's sulkin' in 'er tent, as usual," Skinflint replied. "She 'asn't eaten all day, too. Neiana, lass! Git out 'ere, now!"

"I'm tired!" she yelled.

Skinflint sighed."Now lass, we're all tired. But we won't give ya anythin' if ya don't p'rticipate!"

"What about Wigget?" she asked.

"Wha' about 'er? She's at tha gnome village wit' 'er crazy kin!"

They heard her sigh from within and then the door of her tent opened, revealing a woman who clearly looked upset. Even Skinflint could tell she had been crying.

"Just split it even four ways. Why do men make everything so complicated?"

No one replied as they shifted awkwardly, unable to respond properly to her feelings.

"Well, it's all about allocating loot to whomever would use it best," Denevell explained.

"Then why did you need me for? I'm going to take a walk! I need some air! And don't you worry, I won't wander off far!"

The two watched with confusion as she left in a huff.

"What is wrong with her? Is it the time of her cycle?" Denevell asked, perplexed.

"She's got much ta learn, she does."

Denevell rose to his feet and morphed into a cat.

"That may be true, but she should be watched, in case she runs into trouble."

"Ya go see what be troublin' tha lass. No one does it betta than ye," Skinflint said with a sigh.

The cat disappeared.

Denevell found her sitting on a mound, not too far from everyone but in danger of being killed by any passing wild life or trampled up on by elephants. Did she have a shred of self-preservation left?

"He lied! That bastard! He lied. He used me. That bastard..." she whispered hoarsely.

He noticed that in her hands she clasped a green Malachite Pendant, which shone brightly in the waning sun. She seemed angry and strangely resolute.

"Who lied?" he asked, materializing beside her.

She turned to him, her face filled with embarrassment and shock.

"Denevell! I..."

"So, who was it that lied?" he prodded gently.

"The Blood Elf we ganked at Tuurem. I went back and tended his wounds. We kissed..." she explained derisively.

"Oh?"

"He said that Northrend was large enough so we could make a home here without worrying about being found, or judged. He promised that he would come for me before two months passed!"

"And what else?"

"And that...and that he loved ..."

She burst into tears.

Denevell sighed.

"This is for the best. Even if he came, like a white knight, to rescue you and help you find the home that you long for so dearly, do you really think it would work?"

"I had hoped."

"Hope does not change the fact that you will grow old while he remained young. Do you think it will not matter to you? To him?"

The words were harsh, but since it was a cute, furry, purple cat saying them, it soften the blow.

"And what of your children? Where would they belong?"

"I had hoped."

Fresh tears fell slowly. The word "hope" sounded so hollow.

"I guess hope is for fools," she declared as she squeezed pendant so tightly, it almost cut her hand. "Well, it seems I don't need this anymore."

As she was about to throw the Malachite Pendant away into the Tundra, Denevell's purple paw reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her.

"What are you doing, child?"

"I am throwin' this thin' away tha' 'e gave me," she replied, her accent giving away her anger and distress.

"Why?"

"'Cause 'e lied 'e did! N' I dunno want it!"

"Then this Sol, he was the elf you met in the banks of the river in Elwynn Forest?" Denevell asked poignantly.

She stood, frozen with shock that he would remember, giving her clarity.

"You remember? You figured it out? When?"

"Just now. That pendant is the same one I examined those years ago. I can tell by the workmanship. We elves are long-lived, and we never forget," Denevell replied.

She paused, considering those words.

"Does that mean that he never forgot me?"

"Hrm. Blood Elves are different. They are not like us, so I cannot say. However, I will advise you to use it to give another child hope, as he gave you hope all those years ago. Do not throw it away, but give it to a child who needs it," he advised.

"That's true. I...I should give this gift to someone else," she said with a sigh. She was a little annoyed by the prospect. It really grated how Denevell was so noble and reasonable, as she sorely wanted throw the pendant away, and have it trampled by a herd of elephants.

The matter now settled, as far as Denevell was concerned, he began to walk back to the camp.

"Now that we have all of this sorted out, we should go back. You need to apologize to your father. And be glad that you are not with child, or you would have to go back home like Lorenna," he said with a sniff, as she followed him back to camp.

Another three months passed, and during that time Neiana never gave up hope. Although she didn't show it, and was in every way a competent member of her team, she would scan the Horde parties they encountered, hoping that she'd find that one group she knew personally. Although Sol stood out to her the most, all the members were etched in her mind forever: the haughty female elf Lucilin; the brusque but relaxed Orc and his hideous spider, Guntag and GlubGlug; and finally, the odd and rather awkward Forsaken by the simple name of Bill.

One unusually sunny afternoon, while they were traveling along the Dragonblight, right at Wyrm Rest Temple, she thought she saw them pass by. One of the members, the Orc Hunter who traveled with a huge green spider, paused slightly and turned to her. There was a Forsaken Priest too, who seemed rather familiar with his slack jaw and awkward gait. For a breathless second, she thought that it was Guntag and Bill, and she felt her heart constrict painfully. But just as quickly as she felt her hope surge, it crashed, for in the group was also a large, black unfamiliar Tauren, and no Blood Elves, male or female. She sighed and quickly looked down, her heart now as cold as the bones that dotted the landscape.

She refused to cry, but even so, a few tears escaped and streaked across her reddened cheeks. Neiana was grateful for the large hood which covered her face, hiding her tears, and the cold, relentless wind. Still, she had to make sure they could not see, so she lowered her hood she as she followed Skinflint and Denevell into the large, foreboding tower of Wyrm Rest Temple.

Wigget, lagging a bit behind, saw everything. But her large green eyes saw something else: behind one of the large temple pillars stood a black-haired elf, examining them. His hair was a little longer, and his large hood covered most of his face, but the bright green eyes gleamed from within the shadow of his cowl were familiar. When their eyes met, she recognized the same proud, almost cruel stare that she'd noticed all those winters ago in Winterspring. He gave her a knowing, dismissive glance, before turning to join his party. Wigget, remembering her promise to Cyrus, said not a word.

As for Cyrus, he had a great time. It wasn't unusual for him to make friends at every encampment they met, regardless of faction. He even broke bread and drank the night away with a group of Orcs they ran into in the wild. They put some meat on the spit and danced till dawn, much to the women's chagrin.

Geldie noted with some contempt that he was every bit as bad as Lorenna, finding women in nearly every human Inn and encampment along the way. And just as she had warned her, she was now warning Cyrus about leaving a trail of bastards along the road to Dalaran. Cyrus only laughed at her concern, patting her shoulder as he told her not to worry. This time, he was being careful.

Daela, however, saw something like desperation in his behavior that was the marking of a man seeking forgetfulness. She tried to talk to him, but on this issue, he was silent. Not allowing anyone, not even her, into his thoughts.

Six months passed, and Geldie lead her group into Dalaran. The city was impressive. It's tall, ivory towers were tipped with blue, rounded domes. The white walls glistened gold in the waning light, shimmering and humming with magic that they could only feel faintly, like an afterthought. Its cobblestone streets were clean and well ordered, so they had no problems finding their way about. Neither did the throng of adventurers block their way. It seemed as though the city were a perfect marriage of the elven love of beauty, and stout human architecture.

Even though the city was far above the ground, a fact that Geldie found more than a little disconcerting, it was no colder than the surface and they experienced no shortage of breath. The atmosphere and temperature were perfectly controlled to reflect the conditions bellow. This, more so than the elevation, was what impressed the companions the most.

"We should head on to A Hero's Welcome," Daela said after they had seen their fill.

"True, as there is little 'ere in tha way o' trainin' or sellin'. I canno imagine livin' 'ere as a 'unter," Geldie said as she patted her huge wolf's fur.

But Cyrus had different ideas.

"Hrm. An Inn filled with nothing but Alliance sounds boring. I'm going to mix it up with the Horde at the Lounge," he said, pointing to the, large, rowdy Inn not two yards away.

Geldie gave him a skeptical glance. Just then, a glass bottle was flung out of the door by an overzealous customer, shattering on the cobblestone road with a sharp crash. It didn't help his case. One of her thick, golden eyebrows rose slowly as she frowned, displaying her displeasure.

"I know what you're going to say," he began, raising his hand defensively. "But really, I don't want to hang around a bunch of self-important humans and elves, no offence Daela."

She shrugged before speaking.

"Do what you want," she said, and then bent down to whisper to Geldie,"I think he wants to be alone."

Geldie relented with a sigh.

"Lemme take yer 'orse then. And ye best not drink ta much. Ya never know wit' tha 'orde, ya might wake nakid, wit'out a bit o' gold or a stitch o' armor," she warned.

He gave her a smile and a wink. "Don't worry. I got this. Besides, it's no different than hanging around gnomes."

With that, he turned to the rowdy, and very noisy Inn, leaving the two women out alone. Geldie sighed wearily as she took his horse by the bridle and began to lead her group to the Silver Enclave. Daela noted that he did not talk to his mount before leaving them, which was rare.

"Tha lad's more trouble than 'e's worth, or I'm n' 'lf."

"You should be more patient with him. He doesn't have a real family, so he doesn't know who he is or where he comes from. He's just learned that Lorenna gave birth to boy with his auburn hair, making it almost certain that it is his. So he's fathered a child with a woman he doesn't love, and the woman he does love sees him only as a brother. It's clear he's been on the path to forgetfulness these past six months," she explained sympathetically. Although she didn't have much hope that Geldie would listen. This was not a new conversation.

"He's practically your cousin you know, since Skinflint took him in when he was a boy," she continued.

"I dunno care 'bout that! Tha lad is five full years 'bove tha age o' maturity. If 'is 'ead isn't on straight now, 'e'll neva 'ave it straight!" Geldie declared with impatience, then, after a sniff, she continued. "'Cousin', hmph, 'e's a queer lookin' dwarf if that what 'e be!"

The women said no more as they traveled the short way to their destination.

Meanwhile, once left to his own devices, Cyrus entered the The Legerdemain Lounge and immediately walked to the bar. The women would have been surprised as he, for once, did not socialize with those around him by flirting with the bar maids or buying a round of drinks, but rather kept to himself, finding a lonely place at the edge of the bar.

He looked around him, and found the Legerdemain Lounge to be everything that he'd expected. The air was thick with smoke coming from pipes and thick cigars, while barmaids swiftly moved from table to table, sure to serve their drinks as fast as they could. The air hummed with dozens of boisterous voices of adventurers, quick to share their tales and spend their new-found fortunes.

Although a neutral inn, the actual seating was pretty segregated, mostly by faction but sometimes also by race. However, that was not always so. In one corner, there were a group of adventurers staging a drinking contest. The Horde was represented by an Orc Hunter, who looked rather familiar. His green spider sat beside him, it's thick, hairy legs were folded neatly under her large abdomen. A huge black Tauren stood to his right. He was a Shaman, and was healing him on the sly, trying to give the Orc and advantage, as Cyrus could plainly see. The Alliance was represented by none other than the purple haired elf, Faelden. Beside him was his ever constant gnome companion, Gearshift. They seemed to be evenly matched. The two were flanked by members of their faction, cheering them on.

Cyrus wondered with slight amusement if he should tell Faelden that Lorenna's child was obviously his. But then he thought against it. Faelden probably wouldn't even remember him.

"You don't look right, adventurer, care for some spirits?" the fair elven bartender asked him, breaking Cyrus from his thoughts.

"That would be great," he said.

He ordered a Caraway Burnwine, wishing that they served Dwarven Stout, and proceeded to silently mull his thoughts away as he drank. It was then that his warrior's instinct detected that he was being watched. He raised his eyes cautiously, following the source of the stare and found, to his surprise, that they came from a Blood Elf standing at the foot of the stairs leading to the second level. His hair was a dark, midnight black, and hung loosely upon his shoulders. His dusky Northrend style armor was thick and a little worse for wear. It was then that Cyrus recognized him. Not just as Sol, the elf that he'd ganked at Tuurem, but as the elf he'd chased into Duskwood those years ago. Cyrus' eyes had always been very sharp, and he'd seen that face clearly even in the gloom, staring back at him across the river bank.

It did not surprise him that Sol would take such an interest in him. After all, he had been part of a group that had ganked him in Tuurem and had left him for dead. Perhaps he was seeking revenge. But this did not seem to be the case. There was no hostility coming from him. Sol motioned for him to follow by nodding ever so slightly up the stairs, before proceeding to go.

For several minutes, Cyrus sat frozen with uncertainty. Sol was in many ways his most hated enemy. He'd hurt his love, left her for dead, and then had the audacity to take her heart. Looking back, he was sure that there were times when Neiana had seen him as more than a brother, but being the fool that he was, he'd never taken advantage of it. But regardless of the past, she'd given her heart to Sol. He would respect that, but he would be damned before he would turn into an errand boy for those star-crossed lovers whatever her feelings. He was simply too proud. If that was the purpose of him being called up, then there was nothing to do but decline right away.

With new resolve, he set his cup down firmly, placed a few silver coins on the table as tip, and headed to the stairs. After reaching the top, he was surprised at the abrupt change in atmosphere. The loud den of the bar beneath suddenly muffled, and even his ears could barely detect the noise, except for a slight hum. He had a hard time believing that such phenomena could occur without magic. The walls were paneled with ivory and silk and the floors were richly carpeted with emerald and sapphire rugs. It took less than a second for him to take in his new surroundings and realize, to his horror, that he was the only one standing in the hall, and not a sound came from any of the rooms. Was this a trap? Cyrus immediately prepared himself and reached for his sword.

That is when a man cleared his throat to his right. He turned, with his sword wielded, to the sound and saw an Undead Priest, with an unsettling slack jaw and moss-green hair, standing before an opened door. He gestured with his hands toward the door, inviting him in. Cyrus did not sheathed his sword as he obeyed, and eyed him suspiciously as he entered the room. Neutral ground or not, there were no witnesses.

The elf, Sol, was seated on a sumptuous chair before a fireplace. In that brief space of time that Cyrus had wavered, the Paladin had found time to remove his armor and he sat there, in black plain clothes and leather boots. It was then that Cyrus noted that he looked rather aged. It was not his face, which was as smooth and free of lines, or his hair, which was still glossy and without a hint of gray. It was the weight the experience that creased his brow and reflected heavily upon his eyes. He was not a young elf, whatever age he looked.

The Forsaken Priest said a few words, in a language he did not understand, although he had enough experience to notice the exaggerated politeness. Apparently, so did the elf, for his lips twitched with amusement as he dismissed the Priest. Cyrus did not relax after the Priest left, closing the door behind him. Instead he remained standing, his sword at his side, as he glared at the elf, waiting for him to make his move or speak.

After a few moments, Sol glanced at him with a hint of mirth and then spoke with his accented common. "I know you grew up in the wild, but surely you've picked up manners since then. You should probably sit down."

Cyrus was not surprised that Sol could speak common. He already surmised that mutual communication was necessary to have an affair of any sort, and he knew enough of their history to have guessed that quite a few Blood Elves probably could speak common, whatever the law. What did surprise him was his heavy accent, which rounded heavy consonants, giving his speech an air of refinement. None of the High Elves he'd encountered spoke in such a way. Clearly, this was an elf long unaccustomed to human interaction.

The man cautiously sheathed his sword, but did not do as commanded. "You are one to speak of manners, and yet you've invited me here without a formal introduction. As for me, I am Cyrus, a Foundling, and human Warrior from Stormwind."

"Well, then, I have been schooled indeed, Cyrus the Foundling. My name is Soliandrus Autumn Lightbringer, a Blood Knight from Quel'thas. Now, do sit down."

Cyrus briefly wondered why his parents would have named such a dark looking elf after the sun, but kept his thoughts to himself as he sat down on the plush, white chair as commanded.

"If this is about Neiana," he began tersely. "She will arrive tomorrow and she will stay at A Hero's Welcome. Although you cannot enter, no doubt, she will come looking for you at Runeweaver Square. Whatever you have to say to her, say it then, for I will not be your errand boy."

Sol felt Cyrus' jealousy quite acutely, but did not confront it. There was another reason for his invitation. "Thank you for the information, but I did not request you here for that. I would not be so cruel," he replied knowingly.

"Then do you wish to settle our score with a duel? I did gank you, after all. There is also my challenge at Elwynn Forest, which we have not settled," Cyrus replied shrewdly.

Instead of unsettled shock, which is what Cyrus expected, the elf seemed somewhat pleased. This made the human shift uncomfortably in his seat. Clearly, there was something that Sol was hiding and he was playing with the human, trying to goad him into guessing the purpose of his visit.

"That is not why I have asked you to come, either," Sol replied slyly. "Would you like some brandy?"

That is when Cyrus noted the luxurious bed behind them, dressed in soft white linen. The soft fireplace and the strong drink. He was trapped here, alone, with a powerful Paladin in the room and a Priest guarding the door and who knows what else. A look of abject horror crossed his face. A lesser man would have panicked.

"Sir! I am not at all interested in love between men," Cyrus declared firmly.

Sol threw back his head and roared with laughter. All at once, the years that seemed to weigh upon his features lifted, and it seemed to Cyrus that he was seated by a man no older than he.

"Oh by the Sunwell, your face! I will keep that horrified expression of yours in mind whenever I am stuck in the tedious company of Tauren. Bless their solemn hearts but I require some diversion when I am around them for too long. Believe me, Cyrus, there is not a man in or out of Azeroth in danger of _that_, you least of all."

"Well, then, tell me what it is," Cyrus declared hotly. He did not like being laughed at. "You invited me here, after all. If it is not for any reasons I listed, then go ahead and state your intentions, or I will leave."

"And rightly so. But before we begin do take a drink. You are going to need it," Sol said.

Cyrus took the drink wearily, even sniffing it a little before taking a cautious sip.

"It is quite safe," Sol said with a chuckle, as he poured himself a serving. "At any rate, I am here to give you, Cyrus the Foundling, a name."

This startled Cyrus enough so that the drink was forgotten for the moment.

"What?" he asked.

"Haven't you been curious about what I gave my cousin Aeman in Terokkar Forest, when you interrupted our little exchange?"

"That was you?" Cyrus asked, incredulously.

"It was. My helm, and the shadows of the olemba tree, thwarted your unusually good eyes that day. But your hearing betrayed us to you. Several Alliance parties passed us by, and none of them heard our conversation from the road. Don't you find that peculiar?"

"I have always had excellent hearing," Cyrus replied cautiously.

"And vision, if I recall correctly you were able to see the slight warning I gave you as I passed you by on the road in Winterspring, saving Neiana's life. The cave was far from the road, and yet you still saw it. And there is also the time in in Elwynn Forest, you could still see us even though we had traveled some ways into Duskwood."

Cyrus' lips went dry even as he took a healthy swig off his drink. "What are you trying to say?"

Sol did not seem to acknowledge the question. He merely leaned forward and keenly examined Cyrus' eyes instead. "Remarkable, most who have elf blood have blue eyes, and yet yours are green. It must have been that he accepted the Taint before you were born."

This is when Cyrus rose up immediately from his chair, and stared at the elf with a mix of horror and disbelief.

"No, it is not true! It can't be. I am human! I am no Half Elf! And you...you...are not my father."

Sol smiled wearily before replying. "No, I am not. I am much further removed from you than that. But sit and I will tell you what you need to know. And your name."

The story itself was straight forward and required little explanation. Sol grew up in Quel'thas, but never fit in with the elves. He ran away from High Elf society, which he found constraining, swearing he'd never follow his father's footsteps as a jeweler (the irony did not escape him). He was then employed by a merchant of some means, a Cyrus Turner, who hired him to transport goods from Lorien to Dalaran, Ironforge, Stormwind, and even Quel'thas.

Cyrus had a daughter, who was quite young when he first was employed but grew to be a beauty. Although they never legally married, there was a make-shift ceremony conducted by Cyrus in his home, with a few employees and their families to add some legitimacy to the whole affair. After all, she was now pregnant and having a bastard, particularly a Half-Elf bastard, was out of the question.

Although the man never quite forgave Sol, he kept him under his employment to save his daughter and his future grandchild from destitution. He'd hoped that she would have either married a man of her class who would have taken over the business, or have led the business herself. But as it was, she was not interested in money, trade, or any suitable mates, so she disappointed him thoroughly. Instead, she loved herbs and magic, and studied them. Her name was Adelle Jillian Turner.

"Aunt Jill?" Cyrus broke the narrative, surprised. "That old hag? She was your wife?"

"That 'old hag' was your great-grandmother and the only reason you are alive. Show some respect," Sol chided. Then with a small smile he added, "She was not always old, you know. When she was young, she was quite beautiful."

"Alright," Cyrus said, wearily. "Continue with your tale."

"As I was saying. I was still working for Cyrus, your great-great-grandfather..."

"Got it," Cyrus interrupted, not yet used to the long time frames that marked an elf's life, and found the whole thing rather surreal. Sol did not look a day over twenty-five after all.

"I could have taken a job working at the distribution center, which would have kept me close to home. I tried it at first, and little Ildri kept me company. Your grandmother, by the way," Sol continued.

Cyrus nodded, this time helping himself to another shot of brandy before Sol found it safe to continue.

"She was the cutest little girl you could ever lay eyes on. She had such pointed ears, and curly hair! Ah, to go back to those days. I would give everything. To be honest, she never grew..." he noticed that Cyrus had divested the need for the cup and was now drinking straight from the bottle. "That's enough of that, or you won't remember a thing tomorrow!" Sol cried, tearing the bottle away.

"That's the idea," Cyrus replied with flushed cheeks.

Sol laughed and placed his hand on his shoulder. "I know this is much to take in, but you must remember: you are the only family I have left...well, besides my crazy cousin Aemon. Even you can see why I wouldn't want to claim him," Sol explained.

Cyrus chortled at that admission. "That's true."

"The note you saw me pass to him was a request, with money, to search for the last remnants of my family. The receiver a certain Alliance Farstrider who owed him favor or two. Unfortunately, she discovered that they have all passed away, except for you. Ironically, it was you who nearly bungled the whole thing by storming in like Varian Wrynn, discovering some fiendish plot. Such is my lot in life, for I would have liked a more intelligent great-grandson. But you'll have to do."

Nearly two hours were spent as Sol explained everything. Although he tried to be concise as possible, it was Cyrus who stretched the tale along, asking many questions, trying to find a weakness or inconsistency that would have exposed the tale as a lie, but none was found. By the end of their meeting, Cyrus was completely sober. He left with nothing to show for his new found knowledge but a name, as he had been promised, and a ring.

As Cyrus Ath'len, Warrior and quarter Blood Elf, son of Aton Horus Ath'len Half-Elven, deceased, walked out of the Inn and into the night, he stared at the ring ruefully. He'd been promised that Cyrus was not there to play errand boy. And yet here he was, doing just that. The last thing that Sol had done was request that he should give Neiana the ring.

"She'll know what this means," was the enigmatic command, spoken in a muted tone and sad eyes.

In the end, Cyrus had gained nothing. Within his veins ran the blood of his enemies. It was a shame he would have to carry to his grave. The name given was one he could never use, for it would indicate his elven ancestry.

To make matters worse, his mother, although still alive, wanted nothing to do with him. To her, Cyrus was nothing but a great shame, a blight of her teenage years. All he knew of her was that she lived in Menethil Harbor, and was married with children. He wondered briefly if he'd ever seen her on his way to Theramore, or on his return. Whoever she was, she only revealed her parentage with the promise of anonymity.

And what of Sol? Even if he was family, what would they do? Have family reunions with just the two of them in some neutral goblin town, silently drinking wine? It was not even legal for them to speak! The whole thing was ludicrous.

It also amused him how Sol asked him quite poignantly whether or not Neiana was actually his sister. Aton's death was not clearly recorded, and for all he knew, his grandson could have sired another child. When Cyrus informed him that it was impossible, for he had found Neiana by the banks of Crystal Lake himself, as a young lad of five, Sol's relief was palatable.

What a selfish elf indeed. How he wished he could go back to being Cyrus the Foundling, bastard of Elwynn Forest! Things were much simpler then, and less painful.

Such dark thoughts crossed his mind, that he did not notice Neiana standing beside him until she called his name the third time.

"Cyrus!"

He looked up, startled by the sound of his name. Neiana was beside him, fully armored; holding her great staff with both hands. The simple Malachite Pendant she wore around her neck contrasted with the finery of her raiment.

"You were supposed to arrive tomorrow," he said, confused.

"Skinflint wanted to just get here today, so he really drove us hard. I heard from Geldie that you were here so I decided to come fetch you, since it's late. But you...Why are you here, standing in front of the Legerdemain Lounge, looking so lost?"

It seemed to her that she would have preferred to have found him drunk, in the arms of a serving wench, than looking so sad and defeated. The Warrior did not answer, but instead placed the ring in her hands.

"He is over there!" he declared, pointing to a window on the second story of the building. "He will be happy to see you, I'm sure," he continued with a little less harshness, before walking away into the night, heading for A Hero's Welcome.

As he walked away into the gloom, she looked at the object that he'd left her, recognizing it as the ring that Sol had promised her those years ago. The same one that begun the mad dash at Nagrand. Her eyes watered, as she became overwhelmed by longing, sadness, and joy.

Cautiously she followed the path that Cyrus had made to the furthest window on the second story. There stood a silhouette of a man, a dark shape against the warm glow of a fire that burned within. He was looking down at her, she knew, gazing at her with those green eyes she loved so.

She clasp the ring, realizing that he was giving her a choice, above lay a difficult life, one with brief happiness and a lifetime of pain. To live it, she would have to break away from her home, her family, and everything she held dear. She would be labeled a traitor, and her children despised, living between two worlds.

In front of her were the shadows of the second path, laid before her in that cobblestone street. Through initial pain, she would find peace. She would live her life in relative calm, among those who loved her. She would regain the home she'd lost as a child, and fulfill her promise to the one who gave her life to save her.

It was a bitter choice, but one that she knew was the right one. With one last look above, she whispered, "I love you, Sol. Goodbye."

The silhouette moved, placing one hand on the window as though sending a parting of his own. After that last bit of understanding, she nodded and began to walk away, willing herself not to turn back, and every step heavier than the last. How she wished she could change her mind, run up to the Inn and beg to come with him! But she could not.

Up in the room, Sol watched her walk away with a sad smile. She had made her choice. It was the right one, and he knew it. Still, it felt no less bitter. For the first time in his recollection, he regretted ever taking in the taint and becoming a Blood Elf. But if he hadn't, would they have ever met? Would he had ever loved her?

Bill, who until that time had hung back, beside the door, approached and stood to his right. They both watched as Neiana receded into the darkness. It was only after she was out of sight, that Sol turned to him and broke the silence.

"Bill, bring Huron and Guntag up here. We will be leaving early in the morning to Undercity, and we need them sober."

"Yes, Sir," Bill replied and began to make his way to the door. Then, after a few steps, he paused and turned to Sol once again. "Sir, I am sorry. This is not the ending I would have written for you, for what it's worth."

Sol smiled lightly and turned to him. "Oh? Then you would have written a fantasy. But I must say, Bill, that I envy you Forsaken most of all. For of all creatures, you cannot feel."

"Oh we do feel, Sir, but it is love that we cannot understand. We feel only hatred, anger, emptiness, and in me, the occasional longing but even those feelings, we never have in extreme. No, Sir, I must respectfully disagree. It is you who is the most fortunate one of all."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"You have loved, and felt the joy that comes with it. And now that you have lost, you feel the exquisite pain that it brings. Sir, you are _alive_, something I could never be again. And for that alone, you are the most fortunate," Bill replied with conviction.

The Priest made his way out after a slight bow, leaving Sol with his thoughts. He sat once again by the fireplace, contemplating the totality of his life, and the woman that he'd just set free. Truly, it was she who was the lucky one, for as a human, she would move on.

Oh she wouldn't totally forget him. Their moments together would surface in her mind from time to time, and perhaps inspire a smile. Yet he would be but a specter, attached to nostalgia of youth and the foolishness that came with it, and that is all.

She would move on, marry, and bear children. She would take back her home from the Gnolls who destroyed it, and rebuild, as she'd sworn to do. Perhaps she would end up with Cyrus, which was a good outcome. Whatever his grandson's faults, he cared for her, at least.

But Sol was not human.

"To forget: that is a luxury we elves are not given," he whispered, echoing Denevell's words.

The night deepened as the clouds blocked the moon, casting a shadow over the elevated city. The elf closed his eyes and lost himself in reverie.

On the other side of the city, a woman walked through a bright entry way, away from the darkness and into the light of the inn. There, on the far side, she saw her friends, each with a cup in hand, merrily enjoying each other's company.

Denevell and Daela were seated beside each other, their heads close together, as they spoke in happy whispers. Skinflint was sharing a few tales with Cyrus and his niece, Geldie, while Wigget sat on the table itself, enthralled by every word. She then saw the diminutive woman turn toward her, and smile.

"Hey, everyone, Neiana is back!" Wigget declared.

Everyone looked up and turned their attention to the door. Geldie lifted a mug of ale and grinned.

"Welcome back, lassie!" she called.

The salute was echoed by the rest of her party, who hailed her with a raised glass. Her heart gladdened at the sight as she made her way to them.

"We were worried you weren't coming back, weren't we Cyrus?" Wigget said.

"No, we weren't," he replied, giving her a tense, warning glance. Skinflint was aghast at the very idea.

"Now why would ya worry 'bout that, ya crazy gnome? 'ere, well, 'ere is 'er family! There is nothin' bettah. N' if there is, I haven't found it, n' I've traveled the len'th n' breat' o' this world. N' ya can take that ta tha bank!" Skinflint declared emphatically.

Her spirits lifted, she took Cyrus' glass and raised it, much to his annoyance.

"A toast, ta fam'ly old n' new!" she declared, motioning to Daela.

"Wut? New? Now what ya mean by that?" Geldie asked, clueless as ever.

"We're engaged, silly," Daela replied with a smirk.

"You'll just have to get used to having seven in a party now, because we are never going to be separated again," Denevell declared with jovial sincerity, facing Skinflint directly.

"Well, I'll be! I guess I'll 'ave ta make due!" the venerable dwarf said with admiration.

Laughter erupted from the table. It was the happy laughter of those who knew each other's strengths and weakness, who were intimate with their fears and sorrows, and yet accepted each other without reservation. The room warmed as the hearth fire brightened.

Whatever times may bring, whatever Cataclysm may fall, they would remain unshakably united.

**The End**

**AN:** Thanks for reading and all the reviews! They really were nice and they kept me motivated.

For those who may have remembered the original story, this one is somewhat different. Several characters were changed.

Cyrus, for example, was the leader of the party, a war veteran, and in his forties. But in this story, I changed him to a much younger, more naive man who grew up with Neiana and was about as immature. I think this gave his character more depth. I really like how dense he is, though and I love him a great deal.

Neiana is almost the same, but I made her more aggressive, giving her a lot more personal agency. For example, in the end it was she, not Sol, who decided the end of the relationship (even though they both knew where it was going).

Bill was originally a character that I added at the end of the story, dragged along with the party as they searched for Sol in Terokkar Forest. Instead, I had him introduced early in the story, dragged around while they searched for him there. The introduction of that character was almost the same. I changed his class from Rogue to Priest. In the original story, he was a Rogue with the heart of a Priest so he dressed the part. I thought it was confusing, so I made him a Priest with the heart of a Knight who tried to do his best to act the part. I also made him a writer, adding a few literary references including King Author and Don Quixote. His last speech was him rephrasing Alfred Lord Tennyson's, "Tis better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all."

Lucilin was made a rouge because I had too many magic users and too many Warlocks in the story.

Sol is the one who changed the most. I inverted his age and experience with Cyrus, making him the grizzled veteran and adding a cynicism that was not there before. In the original story, he feared the dark and his trauma was living through the Scourge. I removed his fear of the dark and instead gave him the trauma of losing his family, mainly his daughter, as well as the Third War. He is suffering through a mild case of PTSD. This gave him a side quest throughout the story that led him to his last remaining kin.

His personality also changed. He was basically Faelden. In the scene where Sol runs into Neiana at the World's End Tavern, it was he, not Gearshift, Julius and Faelden who spoke with her. Their conversation was taken word for word from the original part of the story I had left, giving his parts to whichever character I thought was more fitting. Switch the names to Sol, and you'll see just how much that character changed. Although still selfish and egotistical, he became more serious and much more mature. I felt that he had a strong presence throughout the story, guiding me along new territory. He became my favorite character and nearly hijacked it.

The original story was mostly about the flirting, with a bit of a pill stuck in the jam: namely, don't go for jerks, ladies. But this one was not like that. I'd like to think that this story was more about the interactions that occurred between the different factions, contrasting their differences and similarities. It also became a coming of age tale for Neiana and Cyrus, examining the nature of true love.

In the end, I wanted Sol and Neiana to end up together. I thought Sol was more worthy a candidate this time than he had been before. I even toyed with the idea of making a more open-ended ending. But after sleeping on it, I realized that even if they did, it wouldn't last long. The reality of their world wouldn't have allowed it.

I won't be writing any more World of Warcraft fanfiction because I no longer play the game. The game was a lot of fun, but I simply don't have the time.

At any rate, thank you again. Forgive the long, self-indulgent author's note.

~OP


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